


Satellite

by CheshireCity, chocolatemoosey



Series: Leo Rising [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 19-year-old Keith, 21-year-old Shiro, Abuse, Abusive Parent, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Assassination Plot(s), Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Creampie, Cuddling, Cunnilingus, Dad Thace, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Fan theory, Fluff, Fugue, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Injury, Internalized Misogyny, Keith's Mom - Freeform, Lap Sex, Leo Rising Series, M/M, Mecha, Mentions of Slavery, Mentions of underage drinking, Mild Medical Horror, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Human Genitalia, Original Characters - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Penetrative Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prince Keith, Prosthesis, Protectiveness, Psychological Horror, Quintessence drug use, Sequel, Sexual Content, Shared Consciousness, Shiro's mysterious ex, Vaginal Fingering, Xenobiology, Xenophilia, canon through season one, female-identifying genderfluid Pidge, loss of limb, safe sex, she/her pronouns for pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 159,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCity/pseuds/CheshireCity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemoosey/pseuds/chocolatemoosey
Summary: Set months after the events of Pressure Suit, Shiro and Keith find themselves in a new precarious situation. With increasing attacks from the Galra Empire and nowhere left to run, they follow a plan laid out by Thace that will take them deeper into the heart of Galra society than may be safe. Balancing infiltration and assassination attempts is hard enough, but a startling revelation about Keith's heritage more than complicates their plans.





	1. Stratagem

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Welcome everyone to the sequel to Pressure Suit! This will be the second in a trilogy entitled Leo Rising (with potential side stories here and there - we'll see). Satellite and future works in the Leo Rising series will be coauthored by both CheshireCity and chocolatemoosey. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, bookmarked, and left kudos on Pressure Suit: we sincerely hope that you will also enjoy the next leg of Keith and Shiro's adventures!
> 
> If you are new to the Leo Rising series, we strongly suggest that you read Pressure Suit (found on CheshireCity's page) first, as it sets the background of both Keith and Shiro's relationship and of the general plot line that will be followed in Satellite.
> 
> <3  
> CheshireCity and chocolatemoosey

            “Take the shot, Lance.”

            Keith watched from across the cockpit as the blue paladin took up the controls, eyes focused steadily in front of him as he braced for the kickback. Keith’s hands tightened around the thrusters, Shiro following suit. The leftmost section of the viewport gave way to a smaller screen, allowing Lance a more concise view of the massive approaching ship.

            Cerberus Zeta gave a massive jolt as the shot was taken, the laser light glancing off of the leftmost flank of the ship. Lance swore as the three paladins struggled to steady the triple fusion. Lance’s anxiety crashed up against Keith, who shook it off to the best of his ability. Shiro took a steadying breath and addressed the blue paladin.

            “Let’s back up and try again, there’s just enough time to take another shot – Pidge, Hunk, be ready,” he directed to the sound of the yellow and green paladins’ assent. “Keith.”

            Shiro’s intention brushed up against his boyfriend; Keith immediately began pressing the appropriate controls to call up Red’s fire cannon.

            “Got it,” he responded. Zeta groaned as Blue’s sniper rifle congealed with the cannon to form the rocket launcher. Shiro directed the lion to crouch, digging the massive claws into the soft earth of the moon they were perched upon.

            Before further discussion could take place, Cerberus presented Shiro – who was situated at the center of the cockpit – with the sights. Shiro shifted in his seat, abandoning his thrusters for the trigger. Zeta trembled in place for a moment before Keith felt his thoughts go quiet alongside Lance’s—this was Shiro’s concentration. The Galra carrier manifested in his mind’s eye as the triple lion drew from his accuracy and what he assumed had to be Lance’s dumb luck.

            Slowly releasing their breaths in tandem, they took the shot.

            Zeta flew backwards from the force of the projectile, claws dragging steady streaks across the face of the moon. The rocket collided with the underbelly of the carrier a split second later, shrapnel and fantastic purple light blossoming through the explosion.

            “Nice work!” Hunk shouted, his face flickering onto the left of the viewport.

            “ _Yes_!” Pidge’s voice sounded over the comms.

            “Fuck yeah!” Lance cheered, pumping his fists in excitement. Keith glanced over to his boyfriend, grinning triumphantly.

            “Great shot, Shiro,” he praised, immediately returning his attention to the viewport.

            “Don’t get too celebratory just yet,” Shiro directed, his focus never wavering as he helped to right the lion. A series of small red dots broke out over the viewport as the carrier vessel emptied its contents into the maw of space. Fighters and cruisers spilled out into the astral sphere around them, a good number of them catching fire or already crumpling under pressure. The ones that didn’t succumb to the explosion were picked off by the Yellow and Green lions, their invisible forms tearing through the metal with ease. However, the viewport began to pick up on something moving readily towards them through the center of the advance, a massive dot blinking urgently as a shape began to make itself known.

            “What is that?” Keith muttered, brow furrowing in concern as Shiro attempted to zoom in on the approaching craft.

            “I’m running diagnostics now—oh _fuck_ ,” Pidge’s horror was immediately reflected in the triad as the Cerberus unit lifted into space. “Shiro, this thing has _massive_ fire power and it’s charging, I’d suggest switching to defensive _yesterday_.”

            “Good call,” Shiro responded immediately, not one to question her judgement. “Zeta, disassemble – let’s form Epsilon before this thing can get here.”

            “You got it!” Hunk flashed a thumbs-up, his picture disappearing from the viewport as  the flanks of the craft on either side of Shiro began to close off, the Red and Blue lions breaking away and allowing the Green and Yellow to take their places.

            “Good luck,” Keith said over comms, already missing the familiar presence of Shiro. Since the discovery of the Janus forms – and later the Cerberus forms – it was becoming rare for him to be alone in the Red Lion at any given point in time. But right now, the heavily-armored form of Cerberus Epsilon was most needed. As soon as the triple lion was formed, Blue and Red immediately flanked it as close as physically possible.

            Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro activated the barrier immediately, Epsilon crouching close to the ground as its armor was stripped from it, revealing the vulnerable exoskeleton beneath. The armor coalesced before them, forming a curved wall jutting from its front.

            “Brace yourselves,” the black paladin commanded, and the other paladins followed suit as a brief wink of white light overtook their vision.

            The impact came a moment later, the barrier slamming back into Red and Blue and sending the smaller lions’ meager weight flying backwards. Keith swore as his head was thrown violently backwards into the support, neck immediately singing with bright pain. Doing his best to ignore it, Keith surged against his thrusters, managing to right himself after a brief moment of complete discombobulation.

            “I’m fine!” Keith shouted over the din of tinnitus brought on by the explosion. As the ringing died away, Keith began to perceive the commotion around him, a single word on repetition beating into his ears.

            “FUCK!” Lance was shouting. “OH _FUCK!”_

“Lance, are you alright?!” Allura’s concerned voice carried over the comms.

            “I think I broke a— _fucking_ rib,” he grit out. “Or _ten_.”

            “Lance I hate to say this, but you’re going to have to push through it,” Shiro commanded steadily. “We’re going to need Voltron if we’re going to stop this thing.”

            Lance released a hysterical, laughing sob, but said nothing else. Keith landed right side up beside the form of the collapsed Blue Lion. She was laying on her belly, face half-crumbled against a massive rock formation. The Red Lion ran to Blue’s side as she struggled to regain her footing.

            “Diagnosis?” Pidge demanded.

            “The—,” Lance panted. “The mouth cannon’s… disabled. Viewport didn’t take any damage.”

            “Good,” Shiro said definitively. “Pidge, fill us in while we form Voltron.”

            Blue took several shuttering steps before she managed to launch herself up into space, Keith following closely behind before they broke into formation. Pidge’s face appeared on the viewport as she glanced over the specs.

            “It’s biomechanical like one of those monsters we fought on Arus and the Balmera,” she explained. “A lifeform integrated into a mechanical endoskeleton.”

            Keith glanced through his rotating viewport at the creature hovering before them. Oddly enough, it had grown completely still after launching its attack, massive violet eyes regarding them coolly, almost as if politely waiting for them to finish. It appeared to be a tangle of robotic tentacles emerging from the bottom of a massive cannon, eyes affixed to two raised eye stocks. It bobbled evenly in space, as if floating on an invisible current.

            “What is it doing?” Keith inquired warily as the arm of the mecha connected into place.

            “Observing,” Shiro said stonily.

            “The quickest way to take it out is going to be through that cannon,” Pidge pointed out, the left arm of Voltron gesturing purposefully. “It’s going to take a while to charge, so we need to be proactive and shoot it ASAP so the resulting explosion won’t be too big. But even so, without Epsilon’s barrier…”

            She trailed off purposefully, Keith feeling the scope of destruction implied in her words.

            “Lance—,” Shiro began, sounding firm but genuinely apologetic.

            “Got it boss…” Lance groaned, Voltron creaking as the sniper rifle formed on its shoulder.

            “Don’t push yourself, Lance,” another concerned voice cut over the line. Growling, Keith palmed the controls on his dash, bringing up the image of Allura standing at the castle’s control hub. Standing behind her was Thace, the Galra who claimed to be Keith’s father. Upon spotting Keith’s glaring visage on the projected screen, he immediately drew to attention.

            “Get off the comms, old man,” Keith barked. “We know what we have to do.”

            Before he could respond, Keith dropped the visual communication and returned his attention on the creature still floating airily above them, its eyes twitching this way and that.

            “Shiro I don’t know about this,” Hunk was saying, suspicion creeping into his voice. “That thing’s just sitting there waiting for us to attack, it’s gotta be some kind of trap.”

            “We can’t just wormhole away,” Shiro said, Voltron glancing towards the planet below. “It’ll just attack Pirvión in retaliation. We have to do something.”

            Pidge drew out the shield, guarding the mecha from any sort of oncoming attack.

            “Everyone—on three, Lance fires and we retreat,” Shiro directed them. “But we need to stay facing forward so the shield can get the brunt of the damage.”

            “ _Shiro, if that thing hits us, we’re fucked_ ,” Keith provided over the mental link he shared with his boyfriend. In the several months since their initial combination of Red and Black, it had only seemed to grow stronger, far outdoing any sort of shared consciousness the other paladins had attempted to form with one another.

            “ _I know,_ ” Shiro responded, his voice in Keith’s head unwavering.

            “Ready?” he said aloud. Keith grasped his thrusters, preparing himself for retreat. “One—.”

            Keith felt the shift of Voltron steadying the sniper rifle.

            “Two—.”

            Galran ears pressed flat to Keith’s head, preventatively protecting himself from the sound of the explosion. The light in the creature’s cannon was growing steadily brighter.

            “THREE!”

            The kickback was slight, but the force of the resulting explosion was devastating. White overtook Keith’s vision for a solid five seconds, slamming back into his seat as Votron was thrown backwards. There was a torrent of noise: a dangerous creak as Red threatened to separate, Lance’s agonized screams picking up in volume over the comms, and a soft feminine chuckle as Blue was wrenched from the mecha, sending the five lions spilling out over the airspace.

            “Thank you for the demonstration, Paladins,” the strange female voice provided once the noise had ceased. “As always I would like to offer—.”

            She was cut off as a torrent of lasers poured from the castle of lions, the ship immediately taking a defensive stance. A cruiser hovering above them on the astral sphere immediately caught the brunt of the attack, catching fire and raining crumpling bits down onto the lions below.

* * *

 

            “Why is this happening?” Lance moaned groggily as he was assisted out of the healing pod by Hunk and Shiro. The green and red paladins were milling around the healing bay, Keith having come out from healing several hours earlier, whiplash gone. The discussion about the attack had been put on hold until all of the paladins were able to participate, which meant waiting for the blue paladin’s broken ribs and cracked lumbar to repair.

            “What part?” Pidge grunted, glancing up from her laptop. “The grievous injury or the unending attacks? Because I think both come with the job.”

            “Definitely the first, but more the last,” Lance grumbled in response, accepting his hoodie from Hunk and pulling it over his bodysuit. “They’re _relentless_.”

            Keith sighed, glancing away from the group – the past several months had been absolutely abysmal when it came to the Galra’s attacks. He knew that they were in occupation of almost every corner of the galaxy, but it seemed as if their efforts to search for Voltron had increased tenfold after the confrontation on Hydrus. It was almost as if the tracker was still embedded inside of him– but the fading scar on his arm and Pidge’s efforts to disable it were clear proof that this wasn’t the case.

            Keith knew exactly why they were being followed.

Slowly, the red paladin looked up at the convex glass of one of the healing pods, feeling his eyes settle into a glare. Glowing yellow glinted back at him as he looked over his unfamiliar form.

            His skin had completely given away to a shade of grey-purple, eyes void of visible pupils or irises. His hair – fuller than usual – had settled on plum black, and his head was now topped with a pair of feline ears. The last bits of the transformation had come upon him after Hydrus in the form of thick claws arcing out of his nailbed and sharp, elongated canines.

            The final change, however, wasn’t so bad. Keith carefully touched one of the blue markings under his eyes, the mark of an Altean.

            Even with the transformative abilities of the Alteans, it wasn’t as if he could hide his true appearance forever. Despite his attempts, the transformation tended to wear off after about three hours, after which Keith would often collapse out of exhaustion. Despite his shame, his friends hadn’t seemed to mind, and continued to be just as supportive and nonchalant about it as they had initially been.

            But it still bothered him. Keith was certain that the fact they were being pursued was due to his Galra heritage. The beginning of the offer that the female commander had begun to produce over their hacked comms was indisputable evidence of this – he’d heard it at least once a week since October from commanders and captains the galaxy over. It appeared that even in the wake of Keith rejecting Zarkon’s invitation, the Emperor was still determined to get his hands on him.

            Keith looked away from his reflection and towards Lance, who was still rubbing at his lower back with a sour expression. Keith couldn’t bear to think of the impact he’d had on the rest of Team Voltron – the amount of increased danger they were in rested squarely on Keith’s shoulders. Despite his continued propensity towards aloofness, he cared more about his team – his _family_ than he had cared for anything else in his life. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them because of him, especially—

            “Keith.”

            The addressed paladin jumped as a warm hand settled over his shoulder, feeling his hair fluff up in surprise. Shiro chuckled, gently smoothing a palm over his boyfriend’s tresses and bringing him in for a brief peck on the lips. Keith smiled into the kiss, his fingers automatically searching for Shiro’s.

            “EW GROSS KNOCK IT OFF YOU BIG GAYS,” Pidge said sarcastically, snapping her laptop shut and stowing it under one arm.

            “ _You’re_ a gay,” Keith accused without looking away from Shiro, voice completely avoid of venom. Pidge laughed and shrugged.

            “I mean it’s _true_.”

            “Come on, Allura wanted to talk to us in the command room,” the black paladin said, taking Keith’s hand properly and escorting him towards the elevator.

            “Buh, I can’t believe you guys have your three-month-versary coming up!” Hunk said while they boarded the lift, ruffling Keith’s hair as he stepped in.

            “You’re keeping track?” Keith frowned.

            “I mean _yeah_ ,” Hunk shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

            “No,” Keith and Shiro responded in unison.  

            “I think a _six_ month anniversary is more appropriate,” Shiro laughed sheepishly. “And every year after that. Besides – we don’t know _exactly_ what day we got together. The days on Hydrus were a little different than the twenty-four hour ones we keep.”

            “So I mean like,” Keith shrugged. “October-ish?”

            “Okay so your three-month-ish-versary,” Hunk shrugged. “What’s the gift for that one? Glass?”

            “I think that’s three _years_ ,” Pidge piped in. “And I’m pretty sure the traditional gift is _leather_ —.”

            “Yeah, no. Stopping you right there, Katie,” Shiro said, quickly muffling Pidge with the cup of his palm while Lance snickered in the corner. The elevator arrived at the command room and they were immediately greeted by Coran, who was cheerfully smiling at the quintet, hands pressed together in excitement.

            “Excellent work, Paladins! Never have I seen such daring tactics!” he praised, clapping a hand over Shiro’s shoulder.

            “Yes, well done!” Allura smiled, turning to them from where she was standing next to Thace at the main viewport. The Galra attempted a smile at Keith, who immediately glared and looked away. “It will take some time to repair the Blue Lion, but I’m glad you’re well, Lance.”

            “Ah, a little scratch won’t keep me down, baby – I’m indestructible,” Lance raised an arm and kissed his bicep as if to demonstrate. The entire group groaned in unison.

            “Yes, well – that’s all very well and good, but we need to have a discussion about this last battle,” Allura gestured the paladins over to their seats. As they settled in, she began to speak. “While your work was admirable, I have several critiques to make. First off, shooting into the cannon was _not_ your wisest option, but I understand it had to be quickly destroyed.”

            She produced a deep sigh, “Now, about the beast…”

            “Its main goal was to observe us after its initial attack,” Shiro said, rubbing the scarred bridge of his nose with his fingers. “They’re trying to study our reactions, learn our weaknesses so that they can use them against us next time.”

            “Precisely,” Allura nodded, looking grim. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the – ah… _increased frequency_ of Galra pursuits.”          

            “ _Naw,_ ” Pidge said under her breath with great sarcasm. Keith reached over and lightly smacked her upside the head.

            “But,” the princess continued, clasping her hands before her. “I’m fairly certain we’ve found a way to curb this, as well as obtain a considerable chance to end Zarkon once and for all.”

            The group immediately straightened in their seats, Keith standing up completely.

            “What is it?” he demanded.

            “It would actually heavily involve your participation, Keith,” Allura continued, coming up to Keith and settling a hand on his shoulder. “This type of work isn’t typically considered the job of a paladin, but I believe the situation calls for creative thinking.”

            “What type of work?” Keith pressed, brow furrowing in concern.

            Allura bit her lip, glancing back nervously at Thace, who left the viewport and approached the rest of the paladins. Keith immediately felt his eyes narrow and he took a step back, his calf bumping his seat.

            “I need to admit that I haven’t been exactly… transparent with you in the past few months,” Thace spoke up, regarding the paladins earnestly as a brief look of guilt flashed over his expression. Keith scoffed, stepping forward to look the Galra turncoat straight in the eye. Before he could speak, Thace held up a hand in a peaceable gesture.

            “Once I heard you’d made multiple attempts on the base at Hydrus, I confessed about dropping the barrier,” Thace explained. “I was put in the cell shortly after my fleet arrived there, so I would be able to intercept you.”

“Wait,” Pidge spoke up. “How did you even know Keith was the Red Paladin in the first place?”

            “When the surveillance footage from Sendak’s ship arrived on Zarkon’s cruiser, I immediately recognized Keith,” Thace’s eyes softened, his smile becoming gentle. “He looks exactly like his mother – he couldn’t have been anyone else.”

            “That sounds pretty fucking convenient,” Keith sniffed. “How do I know you’re not just trying to get under my skin and hand me over to Zarkon.”

            “Because I _am_ going to surrender you to Zarkon,” Thace said evenly.

            Immediately, Shiro was on his feet, prosthetic taking on a dangerous ultraviolet glow as he put himself between Thace and Keith. Pidge was standing, too, her bayard activated and crackling with electricity. Hunk and Lance looked ready to start fighting as well, halfway out of their seats before Allura shoved Thace out of the way, stepping between him and Shiro.

            “Paladins!” she cried, pushing one hand to Shiro’s chest and one to Thace’s, physically separating them. Thace was regarding Shiro calmly while the black paladin glared, body trembling with the effort not to fight against the princess. “Please, let him explain!”

            “As I said, I will be ‘surrendering’ you to Zarkon,” the Galran picked up where he left off, as if there hadn’t been an interruption. “He has a genuine interest in you, which I believe has been made clear enough due to the level of pursuit we’ve faced in the past several myokokak.”

            “…I’m sorry, _what_?” Keith scrunched his face in confusion.

            “A myokokak is about ten days,” Shiro translated; his arm was no longer alight, but he was still watching Thace with a terse expression.

            “So when you ‘surrender’ me, then what?” Keith pressed Thace, stepping out from behind Shiro in order to get in the Galra’s face. “I fly for Zarkon? Fight against my team? Fucking forget it.”

            “Hopefully it will not come to that,” was the grim reply. “Ideally we’d be able to carry out the assassination before that became the case.”

            The paladins all started in unison, exchanging surprised looks. Keith’s eyebrows shot up and Shiro looked to Allura, who had produced a melancholy smile tinged in guilt.

            “Assassination?” Shiro repeated. “Allura, you approve of this?”

            “As I’ve said before, the Altean way is negotiation and talks of peace,” the princess began, eyes hardening as she stared somewhere at the floor. She paused a moment before looking up at Shiro and the rest of the Paladins. “But the time for that is far from over. If we are to defeat Zarkon, this would be our ideal chance.”

            She turned away from the paladins, walking over to the central hub, where she bent down to pick up one of the mice, the pink mouse Konpeito, petting her thoughtfully, “But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t know if I can trust Thace completely.”

            “That’s fair,” Thace nodded, watching the other mice scurry out from around the hub. The blue mouse, Gumdrop, made a beeline for him and Thace smiled, kneeling to pick the creature up. Keith started, afraid Thace was about to pop it in his mouth, but instead the Galra rested it on his shoulder, where it sat contentedly.

            ‘ _Weird_ ,’ Keith thought. ‘ _But that dumb mouse sure seems to love him._ ’

            “But,” Allura continued, approaching the paladins once more. She stood before Keith once again, her sad smile growing genuine. “I do have complete trust in _you_ , Keith.”

            “Thank you, but I…” Keith looked to Shiro, whose expression was still stony. He kept working his jaw, hands clenching and releasing anxiously by his sides.

            “Ah, no need to worry!” Coran finally spoke up, strolling across the room and hooking an arm around Keith’s neck. “If all goes according to plan, you’ll be in and out in a jiffy and on your way back to see your lovedove before two blinks of a Bulgogian eye!”

            “…what the heck’s a lovedove?” Lance muttered.

            “I think he means ‘lovebird’,” Hunk replied in a stage whisper.

            “There’s absolutely no way that’s happening,” Shiro cut over the commotion, stepping up to Thace once more. “There’s no way we’re risking Keith like that – we’re practically sending him into a den of starving wolves.”

            “Shiro,” Keith turned to his boyfriend, setting a gentle hand on his bicep. The red paladin produced a sheepish smile despite the tense atmosphere, “I can handle myself.”

            “I know that,” Shiro crossed his right arm over his chest to squeeze Keith’s hand. “I don’t doubt you in the slightest, Keith – but you need to understand the level of violence that the Galra are capable of.”

            “ _You would know best_ ,” Keith thought to Shiro sadly.

            “If anything goes wrong, they’re not just going to kill you, Keith,” Shiro’s jaw hardened. “ _They’ll_ break _you_ ,” Shiro told Keith mentally.

            “You’re _not_ broken!” the red paladin said out loud, drawing all eyes in the room to him and Shiro. Immediately, the marks under his eyes began to glow a feint blue of embarrassment, accentuated by the deep purple blush below them.

            Thace cleared his throat, regaining everyone’s attention: “The Black Paladin is right, though. This isn’t going to be a simple task. The threat of—of lasting imprisonment is more than real.”

            Keith didn’t miss the euphemism. If they failed, he’d have nothing to look forward to but a life of torture or servitude. He absolutely didn’t doubt that the team would come after him – that _Shiro_ would come after him – even if Keith would personally avoid taking on such a dangerous task. They’d done it once and had quickly learned that without inside assistance, they were as good as fucked.

            Even so.

            “If,” Keith licked his lips, turning back towards Allura. “If I could prevent the level of pursuit I’ve caused just by being how I am now—.”

            “ _Keith_!” Shiro turned to his boyfriend, dropping their hands to their sides but still squeezing Keith’s.

            “ _Listen_ ,” Keith responded, his grip tightening around Shiro’s hand in turn. “This might be our only chance to put a stop to Zarkon – and if the safety of the entire universe hinges on me…”

            Keith looked over to Allura, nodding resolutely, “Then I’ll do it.”

            “I’m coming with you,” Shiro said immediately, to which Thace shook his head. Pidge’s eyes snapped to Shiro and she began shaking her head resolutely as well.

            “That wouldn’t be a good idea, friend,” Thace said.

            “Shiro there’s _no way_ we’re sending you back there,” Pidge frowned, a look of terror clear on her face.

            “But we’ll send Keith?” Lance cut in. “Alone? With this dude we hardly even know – no offense, Thace.”

            “None taken,” Thace nodded shortly. “But this is an extremely delicate situation – we’ll need to have Keith on his best behavior, and if something happens to you—.”

            “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop myself,” Keith said softly, fingers clicking while he tightened his fists, ears pinned close to his head as he looked away.

            “ _Maybe it_ would _be better if you stayed here_.”

            Even though Keith’s voice was in his head, Shiro glanced away. Keith could feel his hand trembling in his grasp. Allura glanced over at the others, who were watching the exchange with concern. Brow furrowed, she turned to Keith and Shiro once more and gestured towards the doors that opened into the hallway.

            “May I have a word privately?” she said, looking far more concerned than angry with either of them. Agreeing softly, the red and black paladins followed Allura through the control room exit and into the dimly-lit hallway. As they stepped out, the lights brightened in reaction to their presence.  

            “Shiro,” Allura supplicated softly. “Team Voltron needs its leader here with them. Even though we cannot form Voltron proper, the Janus and Cerberus forms are invaluable and require you and the Black Lion as necessary components. As such, it is imperative you remain here with us.”

            Keith could see Shiro struggling with the Princess’ words – he knew Shiro wasn’t one to shoot down logical appeal, especially if the safety of multiple people hinged on it. Even if Keith’s ‘surrender’ was enough to calm the Galra’s frequent attacks, they all knew it would hardly be the end to the confrontations.

            Allura continued: “I know it’s a difficult balance for you two at times, given your relationship, but you must remember that your duties as paladins come before all else. This is not the only time you must make such sacrifices.”

            Keith bit his lip, fighting back a scathing retort. Shiro had already made plenty of sacrifices – all the paladins had. Keith may have been completely on board with dedicating his life to defending the universe, but the fact of the matter was that Keith hadn’t had anything to lose when he joined Voltron – accept for Shiro. That didn’t mean the others didn’t have friends, families, hopes and dreams to leave behind on Earth.

            But in the end, they’d agreed to become paladins, and the greater good always won out in Keith’s mind. And in this case he was still able to put Shiro first, in a way. He would be protecting him from the torrent of attacks they’d faced recently, as well as the threat of being recaptured by the Galra. A quieter part of Keith’s mind reminded him that this was also his chance to personally destroy Zarkon for what had happened to Shiro – a chance he was certainly not going to miss out on.

            Shiro and Keith looked at one another, their thoughts mingling along the same lines – their duties, the greater good, a chance to prevent wild-scale destruction by undertaking the task. Their hands tightened as they reached the conclusion in tandem.

            “Ideally, you would be leaving tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow?!” Keith balked, turning to Allura in shock.

            “Allura, that’s too sudden,” Shiro shook his head, looking genuinely disapproving. “We can’t just throw him in there without—.”

            “He won’t be alone, Thace will be at his side,” Allura cut Shiro off. “And as ungraceful as it may seem, there really isn’t much tactic to the situation other than getting Zarkon to trust Keith… and we must act quickly before his interest wanes.”

            Both winced, knowing that Allura was right. Keith glanced at Shiro apologetically and – although his expression was pained – the black paladin nodded.

            Relief washed over the princess’ face, and she clasped her hands before her. Konpeito emerged from where she’d been resting in Allura’s bun and seemed to give a little cheer of celebration.

            “Thank you,” the princess said, reaching out to take one of their hands on each of hers. “I know this isn’t an easy task, and again I understand how hard this must be for you two. But I have full confidence in Keith’s ability to pull this off.”

            “As do I,” Shiro smiled at Keith, but the pained look in his eyes was heartbreaking. Keith resisted the urge to roll up on the tips of his toes and nuzzle Shiro’s chin, settling instead for raising his prosthetic hand to his lips and brushing them over Shiro’s fingers.

            “I’m sorry to separate you two so soon,” Allura squeezed Keith’s hand, looking apologetic. “But you and Thace must begin preparation at once, Keith.”

            “I understand,” Keith nodded, gently untangling his and Shiro’s fingers. “Shiro—.”

            “I’ll talk to you later, Keith,” his boyfriend returned, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “You should get going.”

            “Thanks,” the red paladin said gently, allowing Allura to set a hand on his back and guide him back into the command room. Keith glanced over his shoulder at Shiro, who remained in the hall resting against the wall, expression unreadable.


	2. Initiate

            It didn’t surprise Keith when he woke up and Shiro’s side of the bed was empty. At first, Keith assumed he’d probably been unable to sleep or woken up early to work out. But as his groggy mind came into focus, he realized the reason for his boyfriend’s absence and reasoned that it would be best to leave Shiro be.

            Keith rolled out of bed, opening up the closet and digging around for a pair of spare clothes. Not exactly keen on having his favorite jacket or armor taken from him, he settled on a buttoned long sleeve tee and his jeans. After shrugging back into a tee-shirt and pajama pants he tucked the clean clothes under his arm and headed out to the showers.

            Shiro wasn’t there either, just Hunk who was groggily brushing his teeth at the sink. He greeted Keith with a friendly wave, which the red paladin returned to the best of his ability. He stepped back into the shower area and stripped off his night clothes before making to drench himself under the spray. As he cleaned, the scent of Shiro and sex dissipated, leaving Keith feeling melancholy. As he maintained his Galra form, his senses had sharpened to the point that he could now recognize the entirety of Team Voltron simply by their unique scents. It was a little disconcerting at first, but it was always oddly comforting to be able to smell Shiro’s scent wrapped up in their sheets, in Keith’s clothes, all over his body. If anything, he didn’t want to leave that behind.

            Keith finished washing and shrugged into his clean clothes, dumping the old ones in the hamper back in his and Shiro’s room. Even though the massive castle was always oddly quiet with its small number of guests, it felt even more hollow than usual.

            Despite Shiro’s absence that morning, Keith couldn’t bring himself to be mad. Shiro had always been horrible with goodbyes – as evidenced by the time he’d kissed Keith before the Kerberos mission and then proceeded to literally run away.  Keith doubted Shiro would be there to see him off that morning – but they’d been pretty thorough with their goodbyes the night before.

            Grinning at the memory, Keith stepped into the briefing room. Currently, only Thace and Pidge were present, the green paladin presenting the Galra with what appeared to be a tiny thumb drive.

            “This is going to be your best friend, so be sure to keep it safe,” she was saying to him. “After hacking into the base on Hydrus, I was able to get a pretty basic understanding of how Galra technology works – thankfully it’s able to interface with the technology we have on the ship, so it wasn’t too hard. You’re going to want to find a station, plug that into the receiving port, and run the program the pops up. It’s called thrasher.exe.”

            “What does it do?” Thace asked, regarding the small piece of technology held in his palm.

            “It’ll allow me remote access to the ‘City Station’, as you called it,” she explained. “I’ll be able to pull all those shenanigans I did on the Hydrus base and then some. If you ever need me to shut something down, just give me a call on your hailer. I jail broke it for you last night, so it won’t be traceable.”

            “Thank you, kit,” Thace said, pocketing the device. “I’ll be sure to implement it.”

            Pidge smiled at him and turned to Keith, her arms already open for a hug, “Get over here.”

            Grinning, Keith stepped forward and embraced his friend, tucking her into his shoulder, “Thanks Pidge, it means a lot to me. I’m gonna miss you.”

            “Yeah, yeah don’t get all sappy on me, too. Hunk was up all night crying and I think Lance even shed a tear or two,” Pidge stepped back from him and folded her arms over her chest, but Keith could see her eyes misting up in concern. “Just... I love you.”

            “I love you, too Pidge,” Keith smiled, ruffling Pidge’s hair.

            “Come on,” she jerked her head towards the elevator. “Everyone’s down in the hangar to see you off—but I don’t think Shiro’s—.”

            “It’s okay,” Keith cut her off, shaking his head. He called the elevator, and the triad stepped in. The entire descent was silent, save for a little sniffling from Pidge who was playing down her emotions. Keith sent her an encouraging smile, feeling much less confident himself. The rest of the team – save for Shiro – had assembled before the Red Lion to see him off, each looking worried to the point of illness.

            Lance approached him first, forcing positivity. “Hey man,” he started, shaking his head and discarding the rest of the sentiment. Quietly he embraced Keith, backing away to hold onto his shoulders gently. “Be careful out there,” he said in parting.

            “Yeah,” Keith nodded resolutely. “Don’t worry; I’ll come back home.”

            “Keith, you’d better!” Hunk chimed in, offering a hug of his own. “If things go wrong, you know we’re going in after you!”

            “Regrettably,” Thace spoke up sympathetically. “That wouldn’t be the wisest choice. Even if events unfold… unfortunately… it will be best for Keith and I to try and right them before the rest of Team Voltron interferes. I know this will be hard for you all,” he continued, looking to the assembled. “But I request your patience all the same. We can’t afford to jeopardize this mission.”

            “I agree,” Allura sighed heavily, wringing her hands. “We’re just going to have to trust in one another.”

            “Chins up, lads,” Coran added gallantly, “This whole business will be done in a jiffy knowing Keith here.”

            “That’s true,” Pidge cracked a smile. “He’s super impatient.”

            “Hey,” Keith shot her a playful frown. “But really, thanks everyone for your concern. It… it really means a lot to me,” he struggled to state. “Well,” he continued, glancing up to the awakened form of Red, eyes glowing in readiness for flight. “No time like the present, right?” Keith mustered. “Thace?”

            “After you,” the Galra gestured, giving the rest of the team a little wave. “If it would put you all at ease,” he hesitated, “Then I will do my best to keep in contact. I doubt my hailer will be confiscated given the situation – surrendering Keith is bound to earn me some favor, after all. That said, it would be best if I’m the one to initiate the calls as I can control for the environment. Is this agreeable?”

            “Entirely,” Allura responded with some relief. “I imagine Shiro will want to be your correspondent.”

            “Actually,” Lance spoke up, licking at his lips. “I’d like to do it.”

            “Huh?” Hunk frowned. “Don’t you think that Shiro –?”

            “He may be too emotionally motivated,” Lance explained quickly. “Better it’s someone less, uh, personally involved, right?”

            “I suppose you present a point,” Allura returned slowly. “If you would really like to do this then I only ask you take the responsibility of reporting to the rest of the team.”

            “Yeah,” Lance nodded hurriedly. “Thace, you know how to reach me?”

            “Yes, I –.”

            “Are you coming old man?” Keith called from Red’s distended mouth. He sighed, looking over his friends briefly before turning back to disappear into the cockpit, none too good at goodbyes himself. Anxiously, he plopped himself into the pilot’s seat, securing the lap belt and tugging it into place. The console lit up at his presence, diagnostics and astral weather conditions running in a projected window. “You ready, Red?” he murmured, patting the dash. The Lion made a low rumble in response and Keith smiled.

            “At least one of us is,” he said aloud. Already his palms felt sweaty as they curled loosely around the thrusters. He had no idea what awaited him at Zarkon’s command.

            _‘At least I know he won’t have me killed,’_ he considered. _‘At least, not at first. Still, I don’t even want to think of what I might have to do. Pilot under Zarkon’s orders? It just doesn’t sit right with me.’_ His stomach soured as every one of Shiro’s panic attacks played out in his mind. _‘Even if it’s just an act,’_ he thought miserably, _‘I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t... I don’t want to be like them, like the people who hurt Shiro. But… I may not have any other choice.’_

            “Kit?” Thace spoke up kindly from behind him, making Keith start. “I’m ready now.”

            Keith just nodded curtly, exhaling slowly and kicking Red into gear. The team gave them a wide berth below, all staring up at him in parting. He gave a little salute, not entirely certain it would be seen, and then Red was powering across the runway and jettisoning off into space.

            “Alright,” he steadied himself. “Which way?”

            “Find Petrathys on your charts,” Thace directed, indicating ahead. “It should be discoverable to you; I saw it on the castle’s map. Set your course for it and head off that way. It will take Allura a few minutes to return to the control room so she can open the wormhole for us, but we can at least orient ourselves in the right direction first.”

            “Got it,” Keith muttered, tapping on the small planet. It enlarged in projection, three moons circling it as its stats spilled onto the screen. “Is this in the Vol system?” he asked, recalling the stories he’d heard in brief.

            “No,” Thace shook his head, “But it’s in the system just before it. Granted, that’s still quite a stretch between the two, but it should be no real struggle in the Lion. It would take several days to traverse to the Vol system from where Petrathys is, but thankfully we won’t have to go that far.”

            “Fine by me,” Keith grunted. “So we’re popping out near to Petrathys, then?”

            “Yes,” Thace confirmed. “Allura and I decided it would be easiest; we know that Zarkon travels that sector of the galaxies but we won’t know where the City Station itself will be. Due to its tremendous size it moves fairly slowly, so it could be anywhere.”

            “Fair enough,” Keith shrugged, peering out into the dark to where a rift of light could be seen. Slowly the space distorted, tearing open at the seams until a whirling portal stretched open before them. “Damn, Allura’s working quickly,” Keith cocked a brow. He strained around his seat to his passenger. “Hold on tight,” he warned, and at Thace’s nod he engaged the thrusters, hurtling Red through the wormhole.

            Instantly there was a weird sensation of suction, the speed of their movement creating drag against Red’s sleek body. _‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,’_ Keith grumbled to himself, feeling the uncomfortable knot build low in his stomach. The first few jumps had made Hunk throw up, and frankly, Keith couldn’t blame him: the wormhole travel always made him feel queasy at best.

            “Okay,” he breathed aloud as the Lion ejected across the portal and to the other side. Removing his hands from the thrusters he shook them, watching with trepidation as the wormhole snapped shut behind them.

            “No turning back now,” Thace muttered, clearly in similar mindset. “Petrathys should be just ahead,” he informed, leaning forward to examine the console. “It’s quite beautiful, too: a shame we don’t have the luxury of visiting.”

            “You’ve been?” Keith questioned, figuring idle conversation would help to occupy his racing thoughts. “Does that mean it’s Galra occupied?”

            “I’ve been to many planets,” Thace conceded, “Both with and without military presence. But to answer your question no, Petrathys is not occupied. Of the planets within the Xtal system, only about half of them have been added to the Empire. They all seem to have some sort of strange core – either mineral or crystal – and only some of them are useful to the Empire’s needs. Petrathys itself has an amethyst core and luxury items aren’t all that highly valued in Galra culture.”

            “I thought you said you were a prince,” Keith frowned. “Isn’t that all about luxury?”

            “Not as you might think,” Thace considered. “Being a part of titled nobility is less about shows of grandeur and more about… well, I suppose general status. We’re referred to with honorifics and have small governmental roles. Most of us own land on Gal and have civilians to care after. Some of us adopt High Galran in our speech, but I always found it a bit too pretentious.”

            “And Zarkon?” Keith pressed, growing curious. “How does he fit into the picture?”

            “Oh, he’s the showiest of the lot,” Thace grumbled. “Always has been. It’s not so much in wealth as in material possession, if that makes any sense. He always aspired to have the best of everything and to be the best of everyone. He likes anything that reflects that about his person. He’s the kind of prick that capitalizes his pronouns and always uses High Galran to remind people of his superiority over them. Then again, as emperor I suppose he has some right to do so.”

            “And how does he respond to flattery?” Keith queried, taking mental note.

            “Mixed at best,” Thace frowned in thought. “I’ve seen that tactic succeed as often as it has backfired tremendously.”

            “Wonderful,” Keith groaned. “So he’s a wild card?”

            “Constantly,” Thace assented. “His moods change rapidly and he has this unnerving habit of playing with those who address him. He makes sport of putting people in awkward positions just to see what they’ll do. If he dislikes their reactions, he either makes life unbearable for them or just kills them outright. Once wronged he’s hard to appease.”

            “Then what about you?” Keith cocked his head. “Isn’t he pissed at you?”

            Thace quieted a moment, only sound a small sniff.

            _‘Guess he’s pretty scared,’_ Keith assessed. _‘But then again, so am I.’_ It was hard not to remember the unsettling shift in the emperor’s demeanor during their last encounter. One moment he was cajoling, making his offer look as promising as possible. But at a firm rejection from Keith a quiet rage had settled over his features and the sharpness of his tone had been terrifying. Keith shuddered despite himself.

            “The Galra have an honor code,” Thace spoke up at length. “I know that no one will expect you to know anything about our culture but I feel it’s in the entire team’s best interest if I prepare you just a little.”

            “Okay,” Keith agreed at once. He didn’t relish the idea of offending Zarkon any further.

            “To get a picture of how things are under Zarkon’s control,” Thace began, relaxing against the pilot’s seat, “There is a salute among not only the soldiers but the civilians as well. Once Gal came under tyrannical rule the more militaristic gestures began to be implemented with force. The salute is to place a fist over your heart and proclaim ‘vrepit sa’. In Galran ‘vrepit’ is an interchangeable word for both ‘victory’ and ‘death’, thereby the statement means ‘for victory or death’ as the two are seen as relational concepts. Those who are not victorious are as good as dead under Zarkon’s rule because they are considered to be dishonored by their loss.”

            “So I’ve noticed,” Keith grimaced. “He seems pretty indiscriminate about executing even some of his best command. Shiro remembered it being that way, too.”

            “Then you may also know that there is a means of regaining honor in the eyes of the Emperor,” Thace continued. “For instance, taking initiative and claiming a substantial victory for the Empire.”

            “Like surrendering the Red Paladin?” Keith assumed.

            “Correct,” Thace nodded. “So my past transgressions are likely to be overlooked in this event. I’m banking on it, at the very least. You’ll need someone to guide you through this mission.”

            “Great, so you’re saying it’s not a certain thing?” Keith furrowed his brow. Instantly his anxiety shot through the roof.

            “It is a possibility, as both Allura and I considered,” Thace placated calmly. “But it is extremely unlikely as Zarkon has been pursuing you with fervor. This is no small favor to him.”

            “I guess,” Keith relented, none too consoled.

            “There is another prominent way of regaining one’s honor,” Thace continued hesitantly. “And that’s to fight in the Coliseum. If the Galra in question emerges victorious, then they are considered to be redeemed in the eyes of the Empire.”

            Keith stiffened at once, considering the implications. “Then what about those like Shiro?” he asked angrily. “You’re telling me they’re seen as having to _earn_ respect? How fucked up is that?”

            “Well…” Thace sighed reluctantly. “Yes, that’s the case, I’m afraid. Those indentured by Zarkon’s command are sent to one of three different fields depending on their level of health and fitness. Those who are deemed attractive are made ylentma. I think you can fathom what becomes of them.”

            Keith shivered, horrified.

            “Then there are the prentma – the laborers,” Thace continued quickly. “And then there are those like Shiro, the myzentma, who are thrown into the Arena for entertainment’s sake. All three castes are considered… well,” he hesitated, lips curling in distaste. “As _d’Gal_ as many would say.”

            “What does it mean to be d’Gal?” Keith frowned suspiciously and Thace practically recoiled in turn.

            “It means to not be Galra,” he answered flatly. “But its implications run deeper. In the eyes of the Empire being outside the Galra race means to be inferior in every way: to be without honor. To be considered d’Gal is a terrible insult and the word itself is more of a slur than a descriptor.”

            “You said that they’re ‘indentured’,” Keith pressed, determined not to think too long about the other fates that Shiro could have endured.

            “I did,” Thace noted. “Because those who are good at their jobs or have gained honor in the Coliseum are eligible to be accepted into Galra society. Of course, they’d be expected to abandon their previous lives and citizenships and embrace the culture fully, but in ways I imagine it’s better than the alternative. I’d imagine anyone would jump at the chance for a normal life after going through things such as that.”

            “I don’t know,” Keith countered. “It seems fairly despicable.”

            “Is it?” Thace questioned quietly and Keith realized he’d insulted him. Thace, after all, had sacrificed his own morals and ideals in favor of enlisting in Zarkon’s service. He’d thrown away his comfortable life for the sake of finding his family: he’d done what he needed to in order to survive. In the end it really wasn’t so different.

            “Sorry,” Keith muttered, feeling shamefaced. Besides, he figured, he couldn’t judge Shiro for doing as much. His guilt was quickly replaced, however, by a primal sort of fear. He could just as easily be stripped of his autonomy and identity without cause for recourse. “Thace?” he asked quietly. “You don’t think I’ll be indentured, do you?”

            “No,” Thace assured him. “I can’t see you in any other position than one of honor.”

            “That’s a relief, I guess,” Keith breathed. “I suppose being the red paladin has it’s…” he cut off, cocking his head and turning towards the back of the cockpit. “Do you hear that?”

            After a beat there was a faint sound of metal creaking, as if giving under weight. The sound ceased, replaced instead by a low scraping.

            “Stay seated,” Thace growled, dropping into a fighting stance, dagger at the ready.

            “I can take care of my –!” Keith made to retort, made breathless the moment the service hatch slid away to reveal the maintenance bay in the Lion’s belly. There, perched on the ladder, emerged a determined looking Shiro, expression brooking no argument.

            “What the…?” Keith trailed off, torn between worry and elation.

            “KIT!” Thace exclaimed, instantly exasperated. “What are you doing here?”

            “I couldn’t let Keith go alone,” Shiro explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “I took some time to consider it and I knew that the team would be just as well served by Allura’s leadership. Next to you, I know the most about the Galra and about the construction of the City Station. It’s worth risking my safety if that means that Keith’s is secured in turn.”

            “You idiot!” Keith fretted, wanting every bit to leave his seat and embrace his boyfriend. “I thought we were in agreement about this? Allura’s going to be so pissed with you.”

            “I know,” Shiro sighed, dropping his gaze. “But I couldn’t stop worrying. I knew I’d be no good to the team like that. It wouldn’t be good for morale and I probably wouldn’t be a very effective leader, either. My energies are better spent making this mission easier for the both of you.”

            “Kit,” Thace attempted again, dagger returned to its sheath and hand pressed to his temple. “You _do_ understand the ramifications of your actions, don’t you?”

            “Yes,” Shiro admitted quietly. “You’ll have to surrender me, too.”

            “Shiro!” Keith cried, terrified. “No, I won’t let you! You’re not going to be hurt any further. We’re going back to the castle.”

            “We can’t,” Thace announced grimly. “They’re too far away and Allura can only open so many wormholes. She may be loath to admit it, but I can tell it takes a lot out of her.”

            “So what, then?” Keith asked anxiously. “I’m just supposed to sit back and let this happen? I’m just supposed to be okay with Shiro being endangered again?”

            “Keith…” Shiro addressed, chastised. “I understand and accept the weight of my actions. I know what this could mean for me. But you mean more to me than anything or anyone,” he confessed, cheeks flushing pink up to his scar. “I know we all came to a conclusion yesterday but this mission is too dangerous for only two people. Thace, you can say that I was secured because I was so close to Keith. It’s the truth, besides, and Zarkon should have enough intel from the Hydrus base to know the claim is legitimate. I’ll likely be thrown back into the Coliseum,” he admitted tensely, “But given my status as the black paladin things might go a little differently. Zarkon at the very least has got to be intrigued, providing he was the previous holder of this title. Any of us three have a sincere chance of assassinating him, then, and the higher our chances the sooner we can complete this mission and go home.”

            “I hear what you’re saying,” Thace scowled. “And I agree that you make some valid points but this was still a foolhardy idea.”

            “I realize,” Shiro acquiesced, “But for me there was no other choice; I’ll accept the consequences of my actions as they come.”

            “I’ll have to subjugate you,” Thace continued in frustration. “Given that Keith was meant to look like a willing participant he was always going to be able to walk free. You, however…” he groaned, running his hand across his face fretfully. “I’m going to have to make it look like I captured you and you’re going to have to fight me on it. You’re likely to be attacked by the guards in turn for your lack of subservience, but it’s the only act that will look believable.”

            Shiro nodded, looking tired. “That’s fine,” he promised, “Do as you need to and I’ll follow.”

            “Shiro…” Keith whimpered, helpless to do anything to change the situation. Shiro wilted, heartbroken to see his boyfriend so scared, and due to his own actions no less. He approached the pilot’s seat, leaning in to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead, brushing his bangs back affectionately.

            “I’m sorry,” he intoned softly.

            Keith bit his lip and nodded, turning his face upward to kiss Shiro in earnest. “Promise me you’ll be careful?” he pleaded.

            “I promise,” Shiro swore. “I’ll come back to you, no matter what.”

            Keith relaxed, placated for the moment and knowing there was no changing what had happened. “How did you even get in here?” he huffed. “ _When_ did you even get in here?”

            “Early this morning,” Shiro laughed guiltily. “I tried to talk Red into it but it just wouldn’t work. Actually, not to throw him under the bus or anything, but Lance was the one that helped me get in here. It was his idea to stow away in the service bay.”

            “That fuck!” Keith pouted, thinking back to the blue paladin’s evasive answers in the hangar. “He knew all along that you were planning this!”

            “Well, yeah,” Shiro shrugged. “But let me take the fall for this one, okay? He didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

            “I know,” Keith grumped, settling back in his seat.

            The next several hours of flight remained uneventful, all three occupants talking casually about anything they could think of that would keep their collective minds off the challenges ahead. By the time Thace had finished his story about the time his friend had accidentally ordered a literal ton of guamnops they had entered the perimeter of the Xtal system.

            “Be on your guard now,” he warned the paladins, standing up to approach the viewport. “That pinkish planet ahead will be Petrathys and beyond it will be H-78-Stratus. The City Station mostly moves around the edges of the Xtal system with cruisers monitoring the spaces in between. If we keep to the system’s circumference then we’re bound to run into Zarkon sooner or later.”

            “How do we even know he’ll be here?” Keith frowned in confusion. “Wouldn’t he be back in the Vol system, near to Gal?”

            “Usually, yes,” Thace affirmed. “Though right now is the prosperous trading season and he’s more likely to be protecting his assets. After all, the entire Vol system is under the Empire’s control and is more than capable of protecting itself.”

            “So is this an annual event?” Keith mused, earning a bewildered expression from Thace.

            “Galra time keeping is a bit different than on Earth,” Shiro filled in. “Like how the Alteans have ticks and we have seconds. But yes, this is something that can be anticipated.”

            “Huh,” Keith hummed in understanding. “So now what are we –?”

            “There!” Thace exclaimed, pointing out the viewport. “See that large craft? It’s a cargo vessel. There are bound to be hundreds of these going to and from the main vessel. Keep your eyes out for another one and we can follow their trajectories back to Zarkon.”

            The Lion raced ahead, gaining the attention of several befuddled cruisers as it dashed from one cargo vessel to the next. Before long Zarkon’s ship rose into view, a looming presence that cast a heavy shadow over a neighboring moon. Like the axis of a wheel, a circle of interconnected buildings surrounded the main ship, floating in place.

            “The City Station,” Thace announced. “An entire metropolis full of soldiers and their families. Titled nobility take trips on it as well,” he explained, voice low as if they might be overheard at any moment. “The ring detaches from Zarkon’s ship and is often left above Gal; you can sometimes see it at night from the surface.”

            “So why is it here now?” Keith queried.

            “Like I said, it’s trading season;” Thace returned, “More soldiers are needed than ever and the Xtal system is a prime place for the privileged to visit. Just a matter of combining business and pleasure.”

            “It’s the same around the height of Coliseum season,” Shiro added darkly. “It’s too dangerous to bring the fights to Gal so spectators just come to live at the City Station during the event.”

            “It’s huge,” Keith marveled. “I wonder how long it took them to fix that engine we blew,” he mused, straining forward to take in the giant craft.

            “I’m sure the drones were deployed to take care of it,” Thace answered, “At least to the best of their ability. They work fast but they’re only so technical. They probably had to take the ship back to Gal for the main repairs.”

            “Pidge’s file,” Keith recalled. “It’s a virus, isn’t it? It’s so that the ship stalls as long as possible, right?”

            “I presume,” Thace agreed. “With luck I’ll be able to power down something critical, something the drones can’t fix. But I’ll have to be – _quiet_ ,” he cut off abruptly, eyes trained ahead on Zarkon’s ship. A blinding beam of light swiveled in their direction, pinning them in place.

            “Is that –?” Keith made to ask.

            “Tractor beam,” Thace answered brusquely, voice rough and low. “Presume from here on out that they can hear everything.”

            Keith nodded in understanding, looking to Shiro forlornly. Suddenly it felt like there were so many things he needed to say and so many assurances he needed to hear. _‘Too late for that,’_ he thought with reluctance, shielding his eyes from the burn of the beam. _‘Starting from now everything is going to be unpredictable. I probably won’t even be able to see Shiro,_ ’ he realized with a pang of worry. _‘Not until we finish this mission. I can’t fuck this up.’_

            The Red Lion careened sideways, drawn inside a side launch bay, depositing heavily on the runway but unable to move. The trio looked at one another nervously as the voices of soldiers beckoned them to step outside the craft.

            “I’m sorry about this,” Thace whispered, barely audible. With surprising roughness he grabbed Shiro and spun him around, dagger held tight to his throat. “Show time,” Thace murmured, and together they stepped out into the hangar, a circle of grunts training their guns on them in an instant.

            “Identify yourselves,” their captain ordered, focusing his attentions on Thace.

            “I’m Thace of Gal,” he announced, wrestling with Shiro as he struggled in his grasp. Mercilessly he drove his leg into the back of Shiro’s knees, making him fall to his feet. Stunned, the black paladin made to rise, only to find Thace’s dagger at his throat once more. “I have two of the Paladins of Voltron,” Thace continued with a grin, “And I seek audience with the Emperor.”

            The soldiers lowered their weapons, whispering amongst themselves as their leader weighed Thace’s words. “That d’Gal there,” he mused, gesturing at Shiro’s prone form with the head of his laser rifle. “He looks familiar. Who is he?”

            “My name is Shiro,” the black paladin spat, and Keith knew in an instant that the venom in his tone was not just for show.

            There was a ripple of shock through the soldiers, body language growing fearful as they recoiled from the captive. “Mit Vrepmyza?” they ushered, voices too low to be picked up by the ship’s translator. “Mit Vrepmyza has vesh!”

            Shiro growled, lunging against his restraints to the point the dagger danced across his skin, beads of blood trickling from the shallow wound at his neck. “This place is _not_ my home!” he hissed, barely noticing the cut.

            Keith trembled in place, fighting his every urge to run to Shiro’s side. He glanced to the grunts, knowing they were watching all three of them and tried his hardest to school his features into a look a neutral boredom. It was almost too much to take.

            “Are you going to let us through or not?” Thace barked, startling the soldiers to attention. “I wouldn’t want to keep the Emperor waiting; he’s bound to have heard by now that the Red Lion is aboard his vessel. At the very least he must be pleased to know that _one_ of Sendak’s fuck ups has been righted.”

            The soldiers laughed nastily, nodding in agreement, clearly unenamored with the Galra commander. Shiro continued to glare, momentarily still. The lead soldier holstered his weapon, stepping forward to greet Thace more thoroughly.

            “What about that one?” he asked, nodding to Keith who froze to the spot, heart hammering as he maintained his disinterested expression.

            “The Red Paladin,” Thace answered dismissively. “He piloted the Red Lion to us, in fact, once he saw reason enough to defect. Besides,” he added, malice dripping from his tone but failing to reach his eyes, “A Galra always knows where they belong.”

            “Understood,” the captain nodded, stepping away. “Avox, Mylok, escort Thace and his company to the throne room,” he ordered. “Tuvor and Ylma,” he continued, and the soldiers in question seemed to stiffen in fear. “You will take the Champion back to his quarters.”

            “Yes captain,” they answered in affirmative as they approached. Shiro’s eyes blew wide, realization dawning on him.

 _‘Oh no,’_ Keith whimpered inwardly. _‘Oh no, not now.’_

            But all he could do was watch wordlessly as Shiro’s breaths grew more and more ragged, his sense of reality slipping away from him as he was transported back in time to the hellish scape of his memories. Thace’s grip on him tightened, the hand fisted in his hair holding him upright as the panic set in. Overwhelmed with the feral drive to survive, Shiro lashed out, prosthetic arm crackling to life as he dodged Thace’s dagger and charged for the line of soldiers.

            Tuvor and Ylma faltered, scrambling backwards to avoid the onslaught, guns rising to the ready. “DON’T SHOOT,” their captain yelled, and Keith’s heart slammed into his throat. There was no time to think. Instinctively he reached for his bayard, but Thace was quicker, catching Shiro by his human arm and yanking him forcefully aside, an elbow driven mercilessly into his neck a moment later. Shiro stumbled once then crumpled bodily to the ground, completely unconscious.

            Keith stared at his body in transfixed horror, glancing briefly to Thace as they both sheathed their weapons. Thace’s gaze lingered and something in the apologetic tilt of his brows suggested the act had been one of mercy. Keith allowed himself a small breath of relief before the other two soldiers were showing he and Thace the way forward. He caught a glimpse behind him as Shiro was dragged away, feeling his heart break into pieces.

 _‘Focus,’_ he reminded himself sharply, snapping his attentions forward.

            He scarcely noticed the ship surrounding them as the metallic walls and pulsing orchid lights gave way to sky bridges and starscape. With baited breath he rode the final elevator, the small ding announcing that they had finally made it to the throne room. Their escorts stepped out of the conveyance, flanking either side of the double doors and motioning them forward.

            Thace and Keith did as were bade and for the briefest of moments Thace’s hand brushed the back of Keith’s in a reassuring press of skin and then the doors were thrown open and they were ushered inside.

            “Enter,” a familiar voice beckoned.

            Keith shivered, the blood in his veins feeling cold and prickly under his skin. Masking his fear he followed in step with Thace, unable to keep from being awed by the simple grandeur of the room. He felt as if he were standing among the stars, the transparent walls extending to dome above them into a ceiling entirely made of glass. Their footfalls echoed harshly against the metallic floor, the same cold grey that ran along the only solid wall, the throne ensconced in its center.

            There was Zarkon, perched mightily with fingers tented into a steeple before him, crimson armor cutting at sharp angles and making him look all the more intimidating. Even from a distance Keith could feel the emperor’s pupil-less eyes trained upon him, already critical and calculating. Keith returned his stare evenly, growing lightheaded with fear and anger. Here was the one person in the entire universe that was responsible for the suffering of millions. For the suffering of his friends, his family. And moreover of Shiro.

            Keith’s fingers crooked forward, eager to ball into fists, but he pressed them hard against the leg of his pants, determined not to betray his true emotions. Thace pulled to a stop an appropriate distance from the throne, lowering to one knee and placing a fist upon his breast. “Vrepit sa,” he saluted, and, with much hatred, Keith repeated the gesture. The words felt like acid on his tongue.

            Zarkon stared at them wordlessly a moment, not bothering to command them to rise. At length he chuckled, an abrupt and rasping sound that caused Keith’s heart to jump in alarm. He dared not lift his head, even as the clang of Zarkon’s armored boots hit the floor, pacing forward until the cruel points of his toes entered the paladin’s vision.

            “I see you’ve found the error of your ways,” Zarkon all but purred. “I knew it would only be a matter of time.”

            Something frigid and rough slid beneath Keith’s chin and he bit back a yell, realizing with impending horror that it was Zarkon’s fingers clasped over his jaw. The pressure built and Keith followed the unspoken command, raising his head to look Zarkon straight in the eyes. An odd sort of smile played over the emperor’s reptilian lips, almost too smug to be a sneer. The disturbing chuckle tumbled forward once more and his grip tightened, pinning Keith to the spot.

            “Welcome home,” Zarkon praised, “My son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha so how's THAT for a cliff hanger?
> 
> What's everyone's thoughts about Thace? Is he a friend or foe? I know a lot of you got really invested in him during Pressure Suit, so this must be just killing you guys. Sorry!
> 
> And Shiro? Well, he's stubborn, what can I say? He's lost too much to risk Keith now.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!  
> <3 Ches
> 
> Hi everyone! I'm so glad to have had such a warm reception with my writing in chapter one! This story is an absolute blast to write!  
> Oh man I've been looking forward to posting this chapter for WEEKS :3c I'm so excited to see everyone's reactions.  
>  ~~In the next chapter Keith screams "NOOO" and then Zarkon cuts off his hand.~~  
>  ~Moosey


	3. Trepidation

**Satellite**

**Chapter Three: Trepidation**

Takashi Shirogane x Keith Kogane

_Voltron: Legendary Defender_

 

            Keith felt himself go blank with shock, the only words circling his brain being the most inane he could possibly be thinking, _‘What kind of Star Wars ass bullshit is_ this _?’_

            He could hear Thace shifting at his side but dared not to look, rooted to the spot by Zarkon’s predatory stare. _‘I’m not about to back down,’_ Keith grit, ignoring the lancing pain through his neck as Zarkon’s demanding grip at his chin forced him into continued subservience. The emperor made a low hum, examining Keith with clinical astuteness but remaining voiceless, the semblance of a grin twisted over his lips.

            _‘What is he playing at?’_ Keith growled to himself. _‘What the hell does he even mean, saying I’m his son? That can’t be right… can it? I thought…?’_ He shifted his attention imperceptibly in Thace’s direction, unable to lift his gaze. But Thace gave nothing away, powerless to speak in the emperor’s presence without first being addressed.

 _‘Did he know about this?’_ Keith wondered, prickly fear building in his gut. _‘What was it he said? That he couldn’t see me in any place but one of honor? That fuck! Have I been set up? Did he betray us? Unless… this is still part of his game?’_

            Despite himself, Keith could feel the first pinpricks of tears bead up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to show. _‘Fuck,’_ he thought miserably. _‘Not this, not now. Fuck him if he’s trying to cross me; I anticipated as much anyway, even if everyone else was willing to give him a chance. I’ll figure something out on my own, I always do.’_

            Still, Zarkon’s sense of wicked amusement unnerved him. _‘Maybe Zarkon’s just fucking with me,’_ another part of him reasoned. _‘He’s cruel enough to want to see me squirm. Or maybe it’s just a colloquial thing that I don’t understand.’_

            Keith quashed the second guessing mercilessly.

 _‘No matter,’_ he pressed, resisting the nervous urge to lick his lips. _‘What am I even supposed to be saying? Neither of us have spoken for a little – am I supposed to pretend to know what he’s talking about? Is it a trap? Fuck, I don’t even know how to address him.’_ Desperately, Keith willed the right words to mind. _‘Well, first thing’s first,’_ he figured.

            “I apologize,” Keith voiced, determined not to let the stiffness of his fear or indignation tint his words. His tongue felt stuck in his mouth: humility had never come easily to him. “My behavior the last time we talked was hasty and untoward,” he continued. “It was foolish of me to decline your offer and I have since reconsidered what was said.”

            “Have you?” Zarkon mused, tone unreadable.

            “I have,” Keith asserted, hoping direly that the hatred coursing through him wasn’t evident on his face. He wanted nothing more than to wrench his head from Zarkon’s grasp, to be out from under his piercing gaze. Keith had seldom felt so helpless; knowing not only his life but those of his companions lay in uncertainty for the next several minutes, dependent on his words alone.

            He wanted to run. Or to fight.

            His fingers itched to reach for a weapon: it was tempting to think that he could end Zarkon’s life in mere moments. He still felt naked without his dagger, the blade having to be left behind as it bore Thace’s sigil.

 _‘That’s it, isn’t it?_ ’ Keith suddenly understood. _‘Thace used that to prove our relation back on Hydrus; if Zarkon saw it would he no longer claim to be my father? But why? It seems flimsy evidence at best, but if Zarkon is really that uncertain then I can’t afford to fuck this up now. I’ll have to play the part… somehow.’_

            Still, instinct told Keith to take the bayard at his hip and run Zarkon through the soonest he could, leaving the consequences for later. But stranded in the throne room with guards swarming the halls he knew he would never make it back to the castle alive.

            _‘And neither would Shiro,’_ he thought in defeat. _‘Thace, either, providing he’s not stabbing us in the back after all.’_

            “Hmn,” Zarkon hummed, solid orchid eyes betraying nothing about his true thoughts. “You certainly seem reticent,” he observed, and Keith adopted more subdued posture in turn. “Still,” Zarkon continued slowly, smile creeping further. “You’ve given me no reason to believe you. Coming under the protection of my empire does not come at so low a price as a mere apology. Just how do you intend to prove your loyalty?”

            _‘Fuck.’_

            Keith’s thoughts began to race as erratically as his heart and distantly he hoped that Zarkon couldn’t sense its frenetic beating. _‘What could I possibly offer him?’_ he panicked. _‘He has literally everything he could possibly desire at his fingertips. Unless…’_ he reconsidered quickly. _‘If he really does believe that I am his son, then that would mean he’d have someone to inherit his legacy and empire. If I were him, I’d want that person to be simultaneously a good future leader, but one that was easily influenced by my suggestion. So humility it is.’_

            “If you will forgive me my impudence,” Keith began, already forced on one knee, “Then I wish to hereby swear my fealty to you. Let me pilot for the Empire and the Red Lion will be yours to command. After all, you are my father, and the last thing you need is a disobedient child. Let me contribute my status as a paladin to the Empire so I can better serve you. Besides,” Keith concluded, swallowing around his final words, “It is about time I returned to my home: I’m done playing about with mere d’Gal.”

            “Is that so?” Zarkon returned, maliciously gleeful.

            “It is,” Keith answered, quieting.

 _‘What did I say wrong?’_ he thought with alarm. _‘This isn’t good; I’ve talked myself into some sort of a corner and now I’ve got to find a way back out. Damn it, I wish Thace would just say something already!’_

            “So tell me, son of mine,” Zarkon proposed, and finally his hold on Keith’s jaw receded. “What has swayed you so suddenly? It’s been nearly a season that I’ve been pursuing you and yet here you are, surrendered on a whim. It’s strange, isn’t it?”

            “It…” Keith started, unsure where his words would next take him. “It took a while to realize I was no longer welcome among the Paladins of Voltron,” he fabricated quickly. “I should have expected as much, seeing as they’re lead by the last Princess of Altea,” he added with a legitimate grimace, “I thought I had found a home. I foolishly thought that being Galra wouldn’t change things for me; that I would still be seen as an equal within my team. I was lucky to have Thace there,” he concluded.

 _‘There we go,’_ he thought with some triumph. _‘Maybe this will allow him a chance to say something.’_

            “Thace?” Zarkon echoed curiously.

            “Yes,” Keith nodded in earnest. “He was the one who identified me, who encouraged me to come back home. Allura and her lot were set on poisoning me against you, but Thace was able to encourage me to see the truth. You always had the right ideas about using Voltron: it’s Alfor’s own fault that things ended up the way that they did. And Allura is just like him, just as set in her ways. She doesn’t have what it takes to properly make use of a weapon of Voltron’s caliber. So I decided to take the Red Lion to where our abilities would best be put to use. Let me better follow in your footsteps… Father.”

            Zarkon considered him interestedly for a moment, before turning and finally addressing the other Galra. “Is this true, Thace?” he questioned silkily. “It was you who convinced my son to return to me?”

            “It is so, Your Imperial Majesty,” Thace answered deferentially.

 _‘So that’s how I’m supposed to address him,’_ Keith recognized with some thankfulness. Thace’s next words instantly soured his relief.

            “I infiltrated the inner workings of Team Voltron, just as I promised,” Thace continued. “Prince Lotor has been heavily influenced by the enemy, but with time I think he will come to his true self.”

 _‘No,’_ Keith thought miserably, looking hard for any hint of artifice. _‘Please, no. Thace is an actor through and through,’_ he fought the urge to laugh hysterically. _‘I can’t tell what’s the truth and what’s the lie anymore. For all I know he’s fucked me over entirely. Or he could still be gunning for Allura. How am I supposed to know who’s on my side anymore? I just don’t know.’_

            Concern flooded him, realizing the words he’d been saying only moments prior. _‘What about me?’_ he considered worriedly. _‘What would my team think if they heard what I had just been saying? What if… what if Shiro heard them? Would it scare them? Would they wonder if I had defected, too? Surely I can’t be that good at bluffing, but…’_ he snuck a look to Zarkon, who was growing thoughtful, _‘If what I’ve been saying is good enough for Zarkon, then maybe it’s more believable than I think.’_

            The emperor was speaking again, addressing Thace, “Do you mean to say he has entered some kind of fugue? That the right persuasion will revive his true disposition?”

            “Yes, Sire,” Thace answered, and Keith could pick up a strange alteration in his attitude that bordered on unease.

 _‘Okay, what was_ that _about?’_ he wondered warily. He looked back to Zarkon, finding his unsettling gaze pinned on him once more.

            “Perhaps a test is in order,” Zarkon spoke, more to himself than either of the two before him. “To see how deep this fugue runs. Shall we start easy?” he asked, rhetorically. Keith remained silent as Zarkon began to pace, circling both he and Thace predatorily.

            “What is your name?”

            “Crown Prince Lotor of Gal,” Keith returned, thankful that the answers had been provided to him through the course of the conversation. _‘What a stupid name, though.’_

            “And what is our salute?” Zarkon questioned.

            “Vrepit sa.”

            “The name of this vessel?”

            Keith faltered, not knowing what to say. He hadn’t remembered seeing a name emblazoned on the outside of the ship, but even if he had, he recognized, it would have been in indecipherable Galran characters. But Zarkon pressed on, unconcerned with his lack of an answer.

            “How many moons orbit Gal?”

            Silence.

            “With what creature do the Galra share a genetic ancestry?”

            Again, silence.

            “How many distinct races are there among the Galra?”

            More silence.

            Zarkon sniffed, obviously unpleased. But then another question came to him and his attitude shifted. “And your mother?” Zarkon inquired with a strangely satisfied look, “Her name?”

            Keith’s stomach lurched guiltily, mind going blank. _‘I don’t know this either,’_ he upbraided himself. _‘But I should. Now what am I supposed to say?’_

            “A shame,” Zarkon hummed, no longer sounding disappointed at all. “A kit should know its own parents.”

            The words felt like too knowing of a dig, and Keith fought the urge to lash out with a snarl. He looked between the two men beside him with uncertainty. _‘Thace or Zarkon?’_ he thought tiredly. _‘Both have claimed to be my father. So which is it?’_

            “This vessel is called The Intrepid,” Zarkon began to list disinterestedly. “Only one moon orbits Gal. The Galra and the Gal’stara share genetic heritage. There are nine distinct races of Galra. And your mother? Well…” he trailed off, smiling once more. “Perhaps after the Druids are done with you you’ll know something so basic.”

            “The Druids?” Keith exclaimed at once, panic setting in. Zarkon’s smile merely widened.

            “Ah, so you’re familiar with _them_?” he toyed. “Then that should make things a lot easier. Haggar?” he called, and suddenly the robed woman appeared from beside the throne. Without confirming her arrival Zarkon continued, “Take the crown prince to the Conversion Chamber and arrange for his room to be prepared.”

            “Understood,” the woman rasped, suddenly at the emperor’s side.

            “What?” Keith asked in a tiny voice, and then his body went stiff, acting of its own accord as a vibrant purple light seized him. Without will, he rose, muscles straining as he was commanded to follow Haggar from the room. Thace flinched, watching helplessly as the red paladin was forcibly removed, the harsh slam of the door barring him from sight.

            Zarkon turned to him, peering downwards imperiously. “You’ve been quiet, soldier.”

            “It wasn’t my place to speak,” Thace answered evenly. He could feel the blood singing in his veins, burning with equal parts fear and hatred.

            _‘I can’t protect Keith from here,’_ he realized inwardly. _‘Not without ruining what we’ve set out to do. And he won’t be at liberty to protect himself, either. I know how the Druids are – or, at least, how they have to be under Haggar’s rule. They’ll turn him into something unrecognizable.’_

            His heart twisted at the thought.

            There was no secret that the Conversion Chamber was a place to dread. It was talked about with hushed tones among the soldiers; the place where the insubordinate were sent to be reconditioned to be more faithful to the military and consequentially, the government.

            It hadn’t always been that way, he remembered. The previous Mother of Constellations had been far more benevolent than Haggar, never one to impinge on the personal freedoms of others. But Zarkon’s sudden rule had brought many changes – including the order for blind servility – and he had made sure that the head of the Druids was capable of reinforcing such.

 _‘If Prince Lotor is who the Emperor wants to see, then it’s Prince Lotor he’ll get,’_ Thace recognized angrily. _‘This is bad; if Keith can’t remember himself then this mission will be next to impossible. I need to get to Shiro as soon as possible. But first…’_ he spared a glance to Zarkon, finding him contemplative.

            “You don’t know either, do you?” the emperor mused, lip curling with distaste.

            “The crown prince is surely your son,” Thace answered automatically. “It’s evident enough in his actions.”

            “Oh?” Zarkon hummed, sensing the room for insult. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. After all, his slut mother certainly made room for question, didn’t she?”

            Thace said nothing, gritting his teeth to the point of pain. _‘You’ll pay for saying that, you bastard,’_ he growled acidly. _‘Neither her memory nor_ my _son will find peace until you do.’_

            The truth was he didn’t rightfully know the answer to Zarkon’s unspoken question. With how the past had unfolded it was just as likely that he was Keith’s father as Zarkon was. Regardless, he figured, he would always view himself as Keith’s parent and would offer his love and support for as long as it was welcomed. Not that Keith’s reception of him had been particularly warm or friendly. Still, Thace wouldn’t give up on him, not when he could sense how much the red paladin hungered for a family to call his own.

            It hadn’t been fair, he knew, to hide the uncertain truth from his son. After all, it was the reason that Zarkon had been dogging him and the rest of Team Voltron so fervently after the events on Hydrus. Thace knew the emperor well enough to understand why: if Keith was truly the long lost Prince Lotor then he served as a loose thread to Zarkon’s totalitarian rule. A thread that, once pulled, could unravel everything that he had worked to pull into his clutches.

            The sooner Zarkon could pull Keith under his influence, the sooner he could groom him into a subject of the Galra Empire ready to serve him. Thace knew from firsthand experience that it was Zarkon’s way to keep a close eye on those that might undermine him. An heir – one that might usurp him – was just one such individual who warranted the emperor’s close attentions. It was no wonder then, that he wanted the Druids to interfere with any potential “problem behaviors”.

            _‘I may not be able to get through to him once they’re done with the reconditioning,’_ Thace regretted. _‘I guess it was fate that Shiro decided to interfere with this mission; if anyone can revive Keith’s true self, it’s him. I just need to find a way to buy him the time he’ll need to do so.’_

            He considered the threat that Zarkon had hinted towards. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

            _‘He’ll subject Keith to genetic testing. Ten thousand years ago we didn’t have such an ability, but now if the results show that Keith isn’t the crown prince then this mission will be over before it begins. Both he and I will be submitted for execution: there’d be no sense in keeping either of us alive at that point. I’ve got to get to the DNA machine and destroy it before the Druids have the chance to submit a sample.’_

He could suddenly feel Pidge’s flash drive secured in his pocket, sensing its importance. _‘That’ll do the trick,’_ he thought with confidence. _‘I’ll have to move quickly, though. Once the virus corrupts the system the City Station will have to move back towards Gal to have repairs and to make use of their technology. Given the size of the City Station we won’t be able to travel by wormhole so that should buy us around two weeks. I only hope that Shiro will be able to reverse Keith’s condition in that amount of time.’_

            “Sir?” he addressed, eager to be free of the throne room, “What are my orders?”

            “Lieutenant Commander Thace,” the emperor intoned, “You are to return to your duties on board. You will find that Commander Prorok has been relieved of his post,” Zarkon continued with a cruel smile, “So report in to Resources to find your reassignment. You are dismissed.”

            “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” Thace nodded curtly, making to rise. “Vrepit sa.”

            “Vrepit sa,” Zarkon echoed, following Thace from the room with his intent gaze. The moment the door closed behind him, Thace released a heavy breath.

            “One of those days?” a voice asked sympathetically from his side. Thace looked warily to the soldier – the one referred to as Avox, if memory served – and gave a tired nod.

            “I think we can all agree that appearing in the throne room is best to be avoided,” he muttered, making for the elevator. “Vrepit sa.”

            “Vrepit sa,” the guard nodded, supportive smile just visible as the vestige pulled away. Thace sighed, reclining against the wall, racing through his plan.

            _‘First thing is deploying Pidge’s virus,’_ he organized. _‘I’ll have to move quickly to get to the bridge. Best I don’t activate any of the doors along the way so that my activity can’t be tracked. Pidge can destroy any security footage of me later.’_

            The elevator came to a rest and Thace disembarked, striding along the corridors that suddenly felt foreign to him. He had only been among Team Voltron for a few months, but it was enough for the castle ship to begin feeling like home. Despite having to be under careful watch, Princess Allura had been more than accommodating towards him and he was happy to consider her a friend.

            “Are you certain about this?” she had asked warily after he’d outlined his plan. “This would be putting Keith in considerable danger.”

            “I understand,” Thace had returned sadly. “And he may hate me for it. I can’t imagine he’ll find the room to trust me after this. As it is, I will have to deceive him for his reactions to be genuine. I think we both know that he’s anxious enough of a person to overthink things if given the chance.”

            “That’s true,” Allura had conceded, twisting at her hair. “He is very adept at thinking on his feet. But Thace, are you really comfortable with all this? I know you feel he is your son no matter the outcome.”

            “I do,” he confirmed. “But this is an opportunity that Team Voltron would not otherwise be able to take. Sooner or later Zarkon would have come to the conclusion that Keith really was Lotor. At least this way the power is in our hands. It’s not how I would want things, but I don’t see any other way. I can only promise to do my best to protect him.”

            _‘I hope I made the right choice,’_ he second guessed, scurrying through an opening door after a set of sentries. _‘I’ll never forgive myself if either of them gets hurt.’_

* * *

            Muffled voices clipped through Shiro’s consciousness, their words garbled and meaningless. He was suspended between two people, an arm held around either’s shoulder while his feet dragged uselessly behind him. Shiro turned his head weakly, attempting to look around, but to little avail – his sight was fraying white around the edges as he struggled to rouse himself fully. Quickly it became apparent that he wouldn’t be allotted the time to get a good look – he was being heaved into another room and then was unceremoniously dumped down onto something soft.

            Wincing in pain from the agitated wound on his neck, the black paladin tried again to get his bearings. He didn’t appear to be in a cell, but some sort of living quarters, lying on a stripped bed pressed up against a wall adjacent to a counter with a sink. A table and chairs were built into the wall opposite the bed – a port window beside them oversaw the starscape.

            Eyes fluttering halfway closed, he glanced after the people who had deposited him into the bed – a pair of Galra guards who were standing in the doorway and eying him warily. Suddenly, one seemed to trip, a bolt of color streaking past their legs and into the room. Unable to keep his eyes open, Shiro closed them once more, taking a shuttering breath.

“AUGH!” shouted a guard, presumably the one who had tripped. “Fucking gal’stara!”

Shiro felt a heavy weight settle on his chest, a deep growl working up within whatever had jumped up onto him. There was the sound of shuffling nearby, and a cruel laugh.

            “Leave it. That thing is evil; hopefully it’ll maul him.” another voice snorted.

            “Show him to leave,” the initial voice scoffed.

            The door hissed closed, triggering a sensory memory of the sound deep within Shiro. Heartrate picking up immediately, his eyes opened and before he could attempt to sit up, he froze.

            Inches from his face, two pairs of golden eyes blinked at him lazily. A creature roughly the size of a beagle was perched on Shiro’s chest, growling deeply – she was lavender, speckled with glowing spots and herringbone stipes that pulsed in time to her growls. A steady stream of drool was coursing down her mouth under the jut of a wicked fang, and her pinprick claws pressed into his flesh through the material of his flight suit.

            Anxiously, Shiro slowly began to shift below her, hoping to gently goad the creature off of him. In response to his slight movements, the animal’s growls picked up to a trill and she shoved her cheek up against his face, pressing against it intently and leaving a slick of drool in her wake. The animal flipped onto her side, using her hind legs to scoot herself closer to Shiro’s face, nuzzling into his hair enthusiastically.

            She wasn’t growling – she was purring.

            ‘ _Okay_ ,’ Shiro thought, completely bewildered. He sat up slowly, the feline letting herself slide into his lap where she continued to writhe and purr in joy. Hesitantly, he reached up to scratch one side of her stacked set of ears, which the animal immediately leant into, rolling against his palm in excitement. A silver tag twinkled on her throat, suspended from a fraying black collar. Shiro took it between his fingers and studied the markings on it, his mind still recognizing the foreign characters: “Nai” it read in bold font. There was nothing on the reverse but a series of numbers that meant nothing to Shiro – most likely her owner’s contact information.

            Threat dismissed, Shiro took a moment to survey his surroundings, pressing a hand to his chest in attempt to still his heart. It was much better to canvas the area rather than submit to a panic attack or dwell on the situation at hand. Recalling advice from the Garrison counselor, he took several deep breaths in through his nose and held them, releasing them slowly out of his mouth. Pointedly he refused to think about the situation at large, instead focusing on immediate concerns: weapons and escape.

            Shiro stood slowly, leaving Nai behind in the bed; she immediately leapt after him, lovingly pressing against his heels.

            There was only one other room, a bathroom set off to the side – none of the faucets seemed to produce anything but a hot mist; enough to wash oneself in, but not to purposefully drown oneself with, either. There was nothing in the bathroom cabinets but towels.

            The cabinets in the kitchenette did not have much more in them – just what appeared to be some plastic bowls and a tub of cat food for Nai. A hatch in the floor revealed a small, cooled storage space filled with rotting foods Shiro had no name for.

            He stood and walked over to a small panel on the wall next to his bed – from the symbols he was able to discern a control for the lights and temperature, as well as a switch which opened a panel in the wall. It appeared to be some sort of closet, the inside containing nothing but a maroon uniform and clip-close boots. Unless he wanted to strangle someone with clothes, he was completely without a weapon.

            Nai meowed loudly at his feet, rolling up onto her hind legs and proceeding to nuzzle his knee. Sighing, Shiro scooped up the creature and headed towards the door. Obviously, the opening mechanisms wouldn’t work, but it was worth listening to the guards stationed outside.

            Through the wall, the translator struggled to pick up what they were saying, but the small understanding of the Galra language that Shiro retained helped to fill in the blanks:

            “—what they’re going to do with him now?” one guard was saying.

            The other grunted, “Is it even a question? They’ll throw him back in the pit.”

            Shiro’s blood could have curdled in his veins – he’d known the outcome of his plan before he’d even set foot on the Red Lion, but hearing it confirmed was almost too much. Smothering down the response, he forced himself to continue listening.

            “And after that?” the first pressed. The second guard chuckled in a guttural manner.

            “I don’t know if they’ll let him back in without that fucker vouching for him,” he said. “If he really put out good enough to get on _that_ one’s good side, then maybe they’ll have use for him in the harem.”

            Shiro’s vision blurred out at the sides, becoming a ring of color at the center of his vision. The feeling in his chest was miserable, enough to make him want to shake out of his bones, out of his skin. Shiro slid to his knees, clutching Nai close to his chest.

            “Don’t even joke,” was the response, the guard’s voice now void of all humor. His horror was visceral, “You remember what happened to the last fucker who suggested that. Besides – screwing Vrepmyza? _That_ monster? No way I’d try to fuck him. He’d rip my throat out without a second thought – you saw what happened to that Stellite in the ring.”

            “How could I forget?” this time his laugh was almost choked. “They had to tear that fucking psychopath off of the corpse.”

            It was all exaggeration. Even though it had been at the beginning of his imprisonment, he could clearly recall the way the guards would talk up the opponents to the slaves in order to elicit fear in them before an oncoming match. It would only make sense that they’d talk that way amongst themselves, too.

            ‘ _I wouldn’t do that_ ,’ Shiro reasoned desperately. ‘ _That’s not – I know. I_ know _that I killed in the arena, but to_ mutilate a corpse? _I’d remember something like that… wouldn’t I?_ ’

            The guard’s resulting banter was suddenly silenced – there was a shuffling as they drew to attention.

            “Lieutenant Commander! It’s a pleasure to have you back,” one guard said.

            “Thank you,” Thace responded. His voice cracked the tension in Shiro’s limbs and he felt himself sink into a sense of ease, pulling away from the door. “I need to see to the Champion, you’re dismissed.”

            “Vrepit sa!” the pair saluted in unison.

            “Vrepit sa,” Thace responded, and the door opened.

            Shiro released Nai, the animal sprinting under the bed when the Galra entered. Thace’s face looked drawn, brow furrowed in concern – Shiro’s fledgling relief was instantly extinguished.

            “What happened?” he demanded as soon as the door closed behind Thace. “Where’s Keith, is he safe?”

            “Very safe,” Thace looked away from Shiro, staring pointedly at the wall. His voice was disturbingly even when he announced his next words. “So safe that he’s been accepted aboard as the crown prince.”

            Shiro’s mind stilled, overtaken by Thace’s claim; the implications unfurled around him like dye in water. Keith’s reiterations of his confrontation with Zarkon after the events on Hydrus began to make a disturbing amount of sense.

            “He said I was ‘like my mother’,” Keith had told Shiro, brow furrowed in concern. “How could he have _known_ her? I thought…”

            Keith’s words had trailed off there, lost amid his confusion. But now, the emperor’s insinuations were congealing, forming the answer.

            “You lied,” Shiro said, feeling his arm glow to life as a quiet rage worked up within him. He felt disgusted – an idiot for believing Thace and even more so for vouching for him to Keith. For putting Keith in danger. “You’re not his father, are you?”

            “I _am_ ,” Thace insisted, looking desperate. There was hurt on his face, but it was not directed towards Shiro’s accusation. “I am,” he repeated, firmer this time. “His mother was my lusilbe; Keith is my kit, even if not by blood. But I’m certain that Zarkon is mistaken about Keith’s parentage.”

            “Lusilbe?” Shiro repeated slowly, not recalling the Galran word. The translators were unable to make work of it, so there was bound to be a cultural implication behind it.

            “My,” Thace scrunched his face, trying to parse out the word. “My love spouse?”

            “Your wife?” Shiro supplied.

            “To an extent, yes,” Thace walked up to the panel on the wall, opening the closet and stepping up to inspect the contents. “It just doesn’t require being registered as married.”

            There was a melancholy smile on Thace’s face, “It didn’t stop her from referring to me as her husband, however.”

            Shiro didn’t inquire about the implications, feeling the insinuations in Thace’s sorrow. However, he couldn’t help but inquire: “Wouldn’t that be easy to discern, however? Keith’s parentage, I mean? I’m guessing the Galra have at _least_ that level of technology,” Shiro felt his pulse quicken. “And you didn’t answer my earlier question – where _is_ Keith?”

            “Pidge made certain to supply a virus for me to upload into City Station’s system,” Thace answered calmly. “Using it, I’ve been able to disable the DNA machine aboard. Which is thankful, because I can only assume execution would be in order for the three of us if it produced an answer Zarkon didn’t like. It’ll take about two of your weeks to reach Gal in order to repair the machine,” he continued, reaching into the closet and pulling out the maroon regalia. Shiro didn’t make to question it, instead focusing on the unanswered question. His anxiety crept deeper into his veins with every beat of his heart.

            “Thace,” he pressed, voice unwavering. “ _Where is Keith_?”

            The Galra’s ears drooped, one hand tightening around the frame of the closet, “Keith is being reconditioned by the druids.”

             The high-pitched trill of tinnitus overtook Shiro’s senses, its silvery notes reflected in his vision as it sharpened into frightening clarity, everything taking on a sharp edge. Dark figures ghosted across the borders of his mind: a woman’s sweet caress on his cheeks, a poisonous promise, the feeling of flesh being stripped away from bone. Her voice rasping, tempting: “I will make you anew”.

            Shiro hadn’t even recognized that he’d begun to sway in place until Thace dropped the regalia onto to bed and grasped Shiro by the shoulders, helping to steady him onto the plush surface beside it. His voice reached Shiro through the shrill noise of his mind, words warbled and meaningless, but somehow comforting all the same. The black paladin’s eyes began to dart from corner to corner of the room, looking for an exit that wasn’t there. There was a bubble in his throat: he couldn’t breathe. Everything had become hyper-real.

            Suddenly, Shiro was being pressed into a warm shoulder. The warmth of the embrace reminded him of Keith’s raised body temperature and he immediately began to calm. Shiro raised his shaking arms up and wound them around Thace, pressing his eyes shut and panting against his shoulder, the panic ebbing off. The Galra squeezed Shiro tightly, a low purr working up in his chest, attempting to calm him.

            “Are you alright?” Thace asked after Shiro’s breathing had stilled. The younger of the two nodded, pulling away from the hug. Thace smiled worriedly at Shiro, rubbing his bicep comfortingly.

            “I’m sorry for grabbing you, it was all I could think to do,” he admitted sheepishly.

            Shiro shook his head, “It’s fine, it’s what I needed. Thank you, Thace.”

            “Of course, Shiro,” Thace’s smile softened. “You are my kit’s lusilbe – my family. I’m going to help protect the both of you to the best of my ability.”

            Despite its steadying beat, Shiro’s heart squeezed in appreciation, “And I’ll do my best to help protect Keith. What –?” he licked his lips, already dreading the answer, “What does reconditioning imply?”

            Thace sighed.

            “It depends. Typically it’s used to instill a more complacent and nationalistic nature in soldiers that are too headstrong to comply with the empire’s ideals, but too valuable to be killed. Typically Zarkon enjoys to see them be broken down ‘by hand’,” he added bitterly, “But in times of extreme conflict, it’s not a wise game to play. As for Keith—.”

            Thace trailed off, parsing out his words, “I can’t say for certain, but I anticipate he’ll be built into the heir Zarkon wants. There’s no telling what that could be: servile, cruel, a _puppet._ ” Thace added the last with great distain. “We can only hope to break him of the reconditioning somehow. I… don’t know how we’ll pull it off, but I’m thinking your presence will prove useful due to your closeness.”

            Shiro lowered his gaze to where Nai was squeezing out from under the bed, hesitantly sniffing Thace’s boots. She apparently deemed him – or at the very least, his shoes – worthy of her affection and began to rub her cheek against them.

            “You’re confident in that?” he asked, reaching down to stroke Nai’s head.

            “Absolutely,” Thace responded, turning to his side to pick up the uniform he’d set aside. “Here, you’ll need to change into this.”

            Shiro blinked, taken aback, “What? Why?”

            Thace’s expression darkened, “You’ve been called to appear before the Emperor, and I refuse to make you change into the attire of a slave. You should have this much dignity, at least.”

            The younger man’s mouth ran dry almost immediately, accepting the clothing. Anxiety flashed with the hot-cold intensity of dry ice in his chest at the thought of facing Zarkon in person, “But wait, why these clothes—?”

            His question was cut off by the sound of Thace’s hailer ringing. He held up a hand, gesturing Shiro towards the bathroom to change. The paladin scooped up his boots from the closet, glancing anxiously at the Galra.

            “Lieutenant Co—,” Thace began to answer, Shiro disappearing into the next room. His face immediately clouded over in exasperation, spotting the face that was projected from the device. “ _Lance_.”

            “Heya, Thace!” the blue paladin’s greeted him, attitude disproportionately cheerful for the situation at hand. “I know you told me you’d call first, but I was getting pretty worried – I mean we were _all_ getting pretty worried – and I thought I’d give you a ring to see what’s goin’ down in Galra town?”

            “ _Lance_ ,” Thace repeated, gripping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and massaging off an oncoming migraine. “Now is _not_ a good time.”

            There was a brief pause before Lance responded sheepishly: “Should I call back later?”

            “I appreciate your concern, but _I_ will call _you_ ,” Thace explained. “I need to be going now, I don’t have—.”

            There was a rap at the door of the room, a guard’s voice carrying through: “Lieutenant Commander? We’re here to escort the Champion.”

            “A moment,” Thace requested tersely, hanging up on Lance with an apologetic wince.

            Shiro stepped out of the bathroom behind him, kneeling down to fasten the buckles on his shoes. He drew up to his full height, lips pressed into a thin line and expression schooled into that of a soldier. Thace took a moment to appraise him, making a small adjustment on the shirt and straightening the tall collar.

            “ _Lieutenant_ ,” a guard said, voice demanding. That wasn’t good; Zarkon was bound to be impatient if the guards were that insistent. Biting his lip, Thace gripped Shiro’s shoulders once more and nodded.

            “I can’t go with you,” Thace said very lowly, so that the guards couldn’t hear. He palmed the door open, gripping Shiro’s shoulder with the painful force of a commanding officer and shoving him towards the guards. The pair stepped back from Shiro hesitantly, both raising their blasters slightly before lowering them at a sharp look from Thace.

            “I expect you to perform accordingly, Champion,” he snarled. “Vrepit sa.”

            “Vrepit sa,” the soldiers said in tandem, saluting. They both looked to Shiro expectantly, who remained absolutely silent.

            “ _Champion_ ,” Thace growled. Although Shiro knew it was only acting—encouragement for him to play the part as well— the words still made the bile in his stomach rise when he spoke them:

            “Vrepit sa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Moosey here! We're so sorry for the delay -- especially on that huge of a cliffhanger! Things got a little crazy in the past few weeks: Ches is extremely busy with work and I just had elective surgery -- which I did not know I was having until about five days ahead of time (I'm healing up just fine). Because of this, we'll be switching to updates every other week until January 6, after which we'll resume making weekly posts. 
> 
> We're really happy to have given everyone some insight into what Thace is thinking and feeling -- sorry to have worried you with the ambiguity as to his moral alignment! I know a lot of you were really excited to know about Thace's feelings on Shiro and Keith's relationship; as you can see, he's very supportive and really cares for Shiro. 
> 
> Stay tuned the week after next for moRE SHIRO PAIN HOORAY! \o/


	4. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Corporal punishment

           “Damn, they sure did a number on you, huh?”

            Dimly, the prince registered a callused hand pushing back his bangs – a stinging dab of cold pressing to his temple a moment later. He hissed, flinching away from the resulting pain almost immediately.

            An irritated sigh was produced in response, the same hand grabbing his chin firmly and turning his face. The wet pressure was applied once more, a little gentler than before, the hand gripping his chin descending to give his shoulder a firm shake.

            “You awake?”

            “What?” the prince croaked, licking at his parched and stinging lips. Sharp pain zipped out from either side of his temple and he pressed his palms there, immediately regretting it.

            “ _Fuck…!_ ”

            “Yeah, bad choice,” the owner of the voice grumbled. There was a quiet shuffling and relief as cool as water rushed over the wounds, immediately evaporating the pain in its wake. Groaning a little, the prince opened his eyes. Dizzy, lagging vision dragged across a room dimly lit with purple light. A Galra hovered over him, her yellow eyes pinched in concentration as she observed the wounds covering his temple. She was relatively small and lithe in comparison to other Galra the prince knew of, with lightly furred ears and a bob of white hair.

            “Who…?” he croaked, blinking slowly. In lieu of responding, she reached out to set an empty canister on the bedside table and returned to him with a little bowl full of glowing liquid.

            “Can you sit up?” she asked, and the prince did so, hissing when pain sang up his arms.

            “I’ll get more Quintessence,” she responded, thrusting the bowl towards him, which the prince dizzily accepted. She stood and left through an open doorway, leaving him perplexed in her wake, “Try to drink that.”

            Not knowing what else to do, he followed her advice and took a long pull from the bowl in his hand – it had a subtle salty-sweet flavor and immediately eased his dry throat. He quickly drained the vessel, setting it aside and sinking into the soft mattress.

            The bed was a large, soft circle crowded with a litany of pillows, furs, and soft blankets – designed more to curl up in than to sleep properly on one’s back. Deliriously, the prince found he liked it and nuzzled into the covers, kneading the soft fabric.

            By the time his attendant had returned, the prince had fallen back into near-unconsciousness, sleepily purring and blinking around with oblivious eyes. With a heavy sigh, she scooped him up from under the arms and propped him up against the slant of pillows that had been arranged behind him.

            “You need to get your shit together before the Mother of Constellations comes back,” she grumbled at him, to which the prince responded with a sleepy hum of assent. Groaning, she stripped off his shirt, and together the pair of them observed a collection of circular welts running up his chest and arms.

            “Ow,” said the prince observationally.

            “I’ll say,” the attendant agreed, opening another one of the canisters and pouring the contents over him. The same feeling of cool relief returned and he hummed lazily, bonelessly allowing her to redress him before easing him back into the covers. “Sleep it off, kit.”

            “Okay,” he agreed stupidly, sliding under one of the furs and returning to his dreams.

            Time passed strangely after that, voices slipping in and out of his awareness, softly prodding hands on his face and neck, someone was smearing something over his face – and suddenly he was pulled into full alertness, as if the sleep had been literally wrenched from his chest.

            Someone new sat beside his bed, arched over his body and studying his face curiously, their long sheets of white hair draped over and around him. Immediately, horror rolled up his chest and into his throat and he bore his fangs on instinct, making as if to swipe at her. Before he was able to make contact, she clicked her tongue in annoyance and held up a clawed hand, a rush of pressure throwing him forcefully back into the pillows. The prince snarled in confusion, pushing up against the psychic binds, yowling and thrashing angrily.

            “I will continue to subdue you if you continue to act like a kit,” she scolded, as if she were speaking to a child. He growled, eyes narrowing into slits before falling into stillness. The robed woman smiled, settling back into her chair. The pressure had dissipated a moment later and he sat up, body angled warily towards her and the other occupants of the room.

            Several others had come in during his sleep – three tall-robed figures in long white masks hovered behind the woman at his bedside, tilting their heads in curiosity.

            “ _Vox_ has mit moleer?” the one in the middle mumbled to their cohort, “Ne… mit _moleeran_?”

            “Dro vox has am…” another grumbled back. They produced the final word loud enough for the translator to catch on. “Small.”

            The prince hissed in their direction, causing the triad to pin him with eyeless stares. The woman at the bedside reached out, grasping the small amount of skin at the back of the prince’s neck and giving him a firm shake; immediately he froze and fell limp onto his side.

            “Did you just _scruff_ me?” he asked in disbelief.

            “I said that you would be treated like a kit if you insisted on acting like one,” the woman said. She let the thought pass by quickly, choosing instead to question him. “What do you remember?”

            “Remember…?” he repeated softly, pushing himself back up from the bed. The prince squinted around the room, as if it would yield some sort of clue – but there was nothing but the dark, sharp curves of the furniture and the form of his attendant pressed up against the doorframe and beyond that—

            He stood, eyes narrowed in concentration as he stared at the image in the small adjacent room. The occupants of the bedroom parted, allowing him passage into the little dining area there. The light upon the wall there was different: a shade of blue instead of purple, giving the portrait it illuminated an almost silvery quality.

            It was of a woman – she was sitting in an ornate chair, draped in sable fur and crowned with a circlet that dripped looped silver chains and powder blue pearls. The blue thread in the stitched portrait caught the light, bringing a luminous quality to the markings below her eyes, brighter still in contrast to her tan skin. Her demure, downcast expression was a stark contrast to the almost-regal face of the man standing beside her.

            “That’s my father,” the prince observed, memories bleeding back into his mind. He glanced to the woman pictured at his side. “This is…”

            “Do you know her, Moleer?”

            The prince jumped, the woman from his bedside having appeared beside him, almost as if she had materialized out of the dark instead of crossed the room. He shook himself, glancing back to the portrait as he attempted to remember – the only thing that bubbled up was a sense of disgust.

            “An Altean,” he said, revulsion creeping into his tone. The woman beside him made a soft, almost pleased tone.

            “And do you remember who she was?” she pressed.

            “No,” the prince said thinly, eyes tracing the dip of her dark hair trailing down her shoulder. “She looks familiar, but no.”

            The woman hummed, “A trivial detail. No matter. Tell me what you _do_ remember, my liege.”

            The prince turned away from the picture, settling down into one of the chairs at the little dining table beside him. The woman sat as well, steepling her fingers before her and watching him curiously as he struggled to remember.

            “I was… taken from here when I was very young. I was raised amongst the Alteans,” his hands rolled into fists, claws catching the fabric of his jeans. “They _hated_ me – just for what I was. My caretakers turned their backs when I was abused—.”

            “And who were they? Your caretakers?” she continued, eager to get a response.

            “King Alfor and his entourage,” the prince said, lip curling up into a snarl. “When my father attempted to reclaim me, I was hidden away along with the king’s advisor and Princess Allura in the Castle of Lions. I woke up… recently,” he mumbled, unable to recall the Galran units of time. “After sleeping for ten thousand years in a cryo-pod – but when I woke up, I had no idea who I was. I looked Altean but…”

            He squinted, the memories playing in his mind’s eye like a theatre, glimpses of three people fading in and out of his mind, their faces obscured by static, “But different. They told me I was the same race as the aliens who had woken us, that I had come there with them, and then—.”

            “Then?”

            “And then I was made the Red Paladin. But I returned here with Lieutenant Commander Thace once he revealed to me my true heritage,” the prince looked down at his lap, memories of the paladins’ cold eyes glaring at him through the haze. “Once the paladins discovered I was Galra, they wanted me gone.”

            “And who were they?” the woman continued to question. “The paladins?”

            “I,” the prince narrowed his eyes, struggling to form names, let alone their features. He could hardly remember the three. “The green one was small, intelligent. The yellow paladin was… their caretaker, I think? The blue paladin was unremarkable,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry I can’t provide you with more helpful information, that’s all I can remember.”

            The woman sitting across from him lowered her chin into the chain of her fingers, tilting her head in curiosity, “And what of the black paladin?”

            “My father?” the prince blinked, a little taken aback. “What about him?”

            The woman shook her head, “No, not your father. The one who stole his Lion and rightful title, what do you recall of him?”

            The prince’s ears flattened to his head, fingers flexing and relaxing as he attempted to recall some snippet of a memory. He knew in order to form Voltron, there had to be five paladins in total, but when he tried to recall anything of the black paladin, he couldn’t conjure up a single thing. Not a face, or a body – neither eyes nor a name. His mind produced a stretch of emptiness where there was supposed to be a person.

            There was nothing.

            “There was a black paladin?” the prince inquired, and the woman’s face was split by an eerie, sharp-toothed grin.

            “That is not quite correct,” she responded, eyes narrowed in contentment. “It’s of no consequence, however. He is here, so we will be able to extract all the information from him we need.”

            The prince nodded, before cocking his head to the side, “Could you tell me something, though?”

            “Yes?” the woman stood, trailing robes sweeping the floor as she left the small dining area.

            “What is my name?”

            She stopped, glancing over her shoulder at him with a blasé expression, “How surprising that you couldn’t recall something so simple. You are Crown Prince Lotor, are you not?”

            “Of course,” he nodded, the answer forming in his mind as soon as she said. “I’m sorry; I think things will come back to me slowly.”

            The woman made an indistinguishable noise and left the room, her entourage all but gliding after her. As soon as the door closed behind him, both the prince and his attendant seemed to release a breath of relief.

            “Ylden,” the woman mumbled after her, returning her attention to the prince, who was sitting at the table with a loose fist brought to his mouth. “You did pretty well for someone who had no idea what was going on, Prince. How’re you feeling?”

            The prince stared at her, his face crumpled in pouty disgust. “ _Lotor_ ,” he spat.

            His attendant held up her hands in defense, “I mean if you wanna go on a first-name basis that quick, I’m not complaining. I’m Cora, by the way—.”

            “Not _that_ ,” he grumbled, carding a hand through his bangs. “ _Lotor_. Is the stupidest fucking name I’ve _ever_ heard in my life.”

            Cora perked up, her expression morphing from shock to plain amusement as she threw back her head and laughed, “Shit, all this memory loss and _that’s_ what you’re upset about?!”

            “It’s embarrassing!” he insisted, feeling his cheeks color purple.

            “It’s a _common name_ ,” she filled him in. “And if it bothers you so much, we can call you something else. Like – I dunno – Lo?”

            “Lo,” the prince repeated contemplatively, nodding to himself. “Yeah, I like that.”

            “Lo it is, then,” Cora nodded, pushing away from the doorframe and strolling back into the bedroom proper. “Okay, Lo – let’s go get you cleaned up.”

            “For what?” the prince sulked, leaning back into his seat. Even with the Quintessence and the strange woman’s influence, he still felt sore all the way down to his bones. There was a deep cluster headache gathering around the back of his eyes and clutching the crown of his head – he’d rather just go back to sleep before dealing with anything else.

            “You have an audience with the emperor,” she informed him, pressing a panel on the wall and stepping into a walk-in closet. “And if I drag you into the throne room looking like you woke up in a dumpster, my ass is getting chucked in the arena. So you’re getting dressed up whether you like it or not.”

            Lo grunted, pushing up from the seat and crossing the room. Everything seemed to be happening so fast around him – the world was spinning too quickly for him to catch up. Memories were still settling awkwardly into place the more time he spent awake, but he still felt… strangely fragmented. Something was clearly off, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay it much mind. Instead, he felt compelled to let the pieces fall into place around him, forming an unsettling story of who he was as a person.

            He didn’t remember much before he arrived at the Castle of Lions – he was too small. He had no idea who had brought him there. But strangely enough, he remembered little of his time there – save for the cruelty of the royal family and way he had been ostracized. After that he remembered even less. Everything was just smudges of color leading up to this moment of blinding clarity.

            He was the Crown Prince of the Galra Empire. His father was the Emperor Zarkon. He despised all those who opposed his father’s rule. These were the things he knew for certain.

            Blindly, he followed Cora into the closet, watching as she picked through an array of gowns and suits, glancing between them and the prince before shaking her head and returning them to where they were suspended in midair.

            “Who are you anyway?” he inquired. Cora froze, glancing over her shoulder cautiously.

            “I’m uh,” she coughed. “Your handmaiden? Your attendant? Your ylentma?”

            “Ylentma?” Lo cocked his head.

            “Yeah, it’s a kind of slave,” Cora explained, looking strangely relieved. “For sex.”

            Lo looked her up and down, nose wrinkling, “No.”

            “Za, de his d’vrepmyza,” she muttered to herself.

            “What did you say?” he asked. “Speak up so the translator can pick it up.”

            “I said I was relieved,” Cora responded, which Lo assumed was a lie due to the speed of the reply.

            “Who were those people in here before? That woman?” Lo inquired, trailing his hands over the plush surface of a couch.

            “That was the Mother of Constellations and her priests,” Cora replied a little tersely. “She’s the leader of the druids – people who practice magick. Or at least they used to, now they like to mix it up with science and…” her irises narrowed into slits as she grabbed the outfit she was holding tightly enough to make pinpricks in the fabric with her claws, “Make people into monsters.”

            “Monsters?” Lo repeated, watching Cora’s ears press flat to her head. However, she returned her attention to her hunt for clothing, tossing aside the ruined piece and rifling through more outfits.

            “These kept well,” she observed, selecting a black flight suit and setting it aside. “I can’t believe this apartment’s been sealed for ten-thousand years.”

            “Who lived here before?” Lo asked, trailing his fingers over some of the clothing at his side.

            Cora shrugged, “I dunno, one of the Emperor’s ylentma – _oh shit_!”

            She jumped back as something darted out of the clothes, pausing in the middle of the closet and glaring around with beady eyes. Upon spotting the prince it dashed straight up the side of his leg, burrowing into his pocket. As quickly as possible he extracted the little creature, holding it out to see what it was; it appeared to be a scraggly rodent the color of sugared violets, glaring daggers at him as if he’d done it a great offense by removing it from his pocket.

            “That thing must have been in here for ten thousand years,” Cora observed, looking over the little creature. “That explains why everything’s so pristine – it was all cryogenically sealed.”

            “What is it?” Lo asked, returning the creature’s glare.

            “Looks like a space mouse,” she said, returning to her task. “They come from a planet in the Vol system called Qurm – a lot of people keep them as pets.”

            “Huh,” Lo frowned, setting the creature down onto the ground where it dashed up the bench and jumped onto a jewelry drawer. He followed it, stopping when he caught his reflection in the mirror. “What did you _do_ to me?”

            “I had to paint you up,” Cora explained. “The druids had to – uh, give you a little jolt to help your memories and it left some marks on your face. Like I said, you have to look good or my ass is grass.”

            Lo pushed back his bangs, and if he looked closely he could see the light discoloration beneath the foundation and sweeps of silvery highlighter. His eyes were lined in gold, giving them a nearly almond shape. He let his bangs drop once more, finger-combing them into place. Cora nudged past him and reached into the jewelry cabinet below, extracting a cone-shaped helmet with little bat wings jutting from the side.

            “What is _that_?” Lo asked, nose wrinkling as he observed the headwear with great disdain.

            “It’s – well it’s a helmet, but I guess it’s technically your crown?” Cora shrugged at him. “The druids that brought you in here told me to find this and give it to you – supposedly it was made when you were a kit.”

            “There’s no fucking way I’m wearing that,” Lo said flatly, and Cora nodded in agreement, looking at the helmet in her hands like it was some unfortunate child’s sad art project.

            “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” she sighed, reaching back into the drawers, and withdrawing her hand as something popped out towards her, seemingly of its own accord.

            However, it was just the space mouse, holding up the same diadem that the woman in the picture had been wearing and looking eagerly between Cora and Lo.

            “…sure, why not?” Lo shrugged, grumpily falling down onto the couch. “As long as I don’t have to wear that idiot helmet.”

            Cora laughed, setting the jewelry aside and handing off the black flight suit and a pair of matching boots to the prince. Shamelessly, he stripped off his clothing in front of her, the woman reacting in a blasé manner and returning to the row of cloaks she was going through.

            The material hung baggily around him until the zip was completely fastened, and then tightened to his skin. The boots responded similarly, squeezing into place around his feet and blending seamlessly into the fabric of the flight suit. Cora gestured for him to stand, draping a cape over his shoulders and sliding the circlet onto his head.

            Lo turned away from the jewelry chest and faced a full-length mirror at the back of the closet. The light blue collar was high-necked and lightly armored like the flight suit, and coupled with the diadem, it gave him an appearance that was equally aristocratic as it was sharp.

            He drew his hand up to his face, tracing his cheekbone and lips with the tips of his claws, attempting to memorize the details of his own image. He looked somewhere between beautiful and terrifying: poisonous.

            Lo smirked, drawing back from the mirror and turning to Cora. “Good choices,” he praised. His attendant’s eyebrows shot up at his sudden shift in behavior, mildly impressed.

            “Thanks, Prince,” she responded, ushering him out of the closet.

            The purple mouse followed at the heels of Lo’s boots, scrambling up onto the bed next to where he sat. Cora glanced around the space for something to amuse herself with before a devious expression crossed her face.

            “Hey,” she said, grinning dangerously. “You speak Galran?”

            “Is that what you were muttering in earlier?” he asked. “If so, then no.”

            “Allow me to give you the basics,” she smiled, pawing the wall panel to adjust the translator. “This is stuff you’ll _really_ need to know.”

            “Alright,” Lo said a little warily.

            “We’ll start with yll – you know fuck, right? In our language it’s yll,” she began to rattle off. “I think that’s a pretty common one over the extent of the universe – yllen is to fuck, a fucker’s a yllsar, screwing’s ylya, a slut’s a ylchall—.”

            There was a noise as someone entered the room, but Cora continued on, unphased. “You could always tell someone to fuck off – yll nand; but I prefer get fucked – yllen ga. Just has a better tone to it—.”

            The person who had entered cleared their throat, stepping into the bedroom proper via the foyer. Cora glanced to them casually, doing a double-take before dropping to her knee in salute.

            “Vrepit sa!” she almost squeaked, face bright purple. “I uh… I didn’t think they’d send someone of your caliber to escort the prince, Lieutenant Commander Thace.”

            Thace sighed, shaking his head as he approached the prince’s bedside table, setting a handful of books there, “At ease – you’re not a soldier anymore.”

            “Want me to prostrate myself?” she said in reply, voice laden with sarcasm. This was met with a sharp look from the Lieutenant. “Sorry, sorry.”

            “Its fine,” he responded, looking more exasperated than anything else. Hesitantly he turned to Lo, who was looking him up and down expectantly. Thace knelt by his bedside, saluting him, “Your Majesty, how are you recovering?”

            “I’m still… confused,” he parsed out, pressing his fingertips to the sore spot on his temple. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

            Thace nodded, looking a little pained by this revelation, “Do you remember me, your majesty?”

            “You’re the one who brought me here,” Lo responded, glancing down at the Lieutenant’s trembling fists. “Why are you shaking?”

            “I’m worried for the Crown Prince’s wellbeing,” Thace returned a little quietly.

            Lo paused, feeling odd about Thace’s behavior, “Alright… thank you.” Awkwardly, he chanced to change the subject and jabbed his chin towards the books that Thace had brought him. “What’re those for?”

            “I’ve been asked to help tutor you in your heritage and Galra customs. But that’ll have to come at a later time. I’m here to escort you to court, majesty,” the older Galra replied, standing once more.

            “I see,” Lo said, taking to his feet as well. “Thanks Cora, you can go.”

            Lo started toward the door, but Thace had paused, seeming distracted. He was staring across the bedroom into the dining nook, where the cross-stitched portrait was displayed, ears pressed flat to his head.

            “Do you know who she is?” Lo asked.

            “She was the emperor’s consort,” Thace said softly, and led him away.

* * *

            City Station sprawled over a surprisingly massive stretch of space, the distant curves of its rings visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows that comprised a good amount of the walls. Thace led Lo over a particularly large sky bridge, next to which was a great wall of glass bigger than any before. Through it he could see a circular structure connecting two rings of the station and The Intrepid at its very center. The area around the glass wall seemed to be some sort of gathering place, the sky bridge and the plaza it overlooked full of soldiers and civilians alike. An advance and rear guard kept any from approaching Lo, but their eyes were trained on the lost prince, everyone pressing to get a better look. The silence that came in his presence left a trail of whispers in his wake.

            It didn’t take Lo long to understand that he was purposefully being paraded around. At first he shirked away from their stares, but Thace fell back beside him, head raised tall and arms folded neatly behind his back, drawing himself up to his full height.

            “As I do,” Thace directed softly, and Lo followed suit, holding up his chin as he walked.

            “Do you recall how to address the emperor?” the soldier asked as they descended from the sky bridge and took a sharp turn down one of the arms of the station that led to The Intrepid.

            “I…” Lo furrowed his brow. “Kneel before him and salute?”

            Thace nodded in affirmation, “After this, wait for his instruction. There… has never been another monarch reigning beside the emperor. These are his… entertaining hours when he meets with high-ranking officials. I know for certain that the Mother of Constellations and Admiral Tzen will be present, but I cannot tell you who else. Today your father will be judging the fate of the Black Paladin before the court.”

            “Alright,” Lo agreed as they reached the end of the hall and were permitted entrance onto the main ship. The remainder of the trip was taken via elevator – which the prince suspected may have had the ability to move in all directions – as they arrived at the doors of the throne room.

            Thace hung back when Lo approached the door, glancing over his shoulder at the elder Galra, “Are you coming?”

            “Not today; I’ve already had audience with the emperor,” Thace said quietly. Lo glanced at the massive doors, trepidation creeping into his guts. He stared back at Thace hesitantly.

            “What do I do?”

            “Hold your head high, salute, take instruction,” the other Galra said. Lo huffed out an anxious sigh and nodded, stepping up to the doors. The pair of soldiers flanking it held it open for his ease; within a dull roar of conversations fell to immediate silence. However, Lo was glancing over his shoulder at Thace, who nodded reassuringly and gestured him on. Lo got the impression that Thace would watch him until the doors closed.

            Licking his lips, the prince faced forward, paling at the host of people that crowded the massive chapter. A hundred golden eyes seemed to be fixed on him, all carrying a frightening amount of calculating feline wit.

            “Crown Prince Lotor,” someone beside the door announced his presence.

            Arms trembling, Lo fastened them behind his back and followed Thace’s instruction, holding his chin high. As he traveled down the aisle, the first thing he noticed was the height of everyone around him – the very smallest person couldn’t have been shorter than six foot, and everyone else seemed to dwarf Lo considerably. However, he refused to let himself be deterred, expression and will determined as he advanced.

            There was a gap between the throne and the space where the members of court milled, and Lo knelt as soon as he had passed the invisible threshold, staring up at the impassive form of the emperor. Zarkon was watching him with an expression that was almost amused, the line of his body as relaxed as it could be while still commanding a terrifying amount of power. Flanking him on one side was Haggar, while another Galra with tall, thin ears stood several feet in front of the throne, arms crossed over their chest.

            “Vrepit sa,” the prince saluted, and fell to silence. Uncertain of what to do, he dropped his gaze to the floor, the loops of pearls and chains dangling around his face. There was a terse moment where nothing happened and then Zarkon stood in a fluid motion. Lo could feel the people around him shift back in terror and reverence, as if they could come to harm simply by being too close to the emperor.

            Zarkon approached Lo, standing before him in complete silence for what felt like a solid minute. And then, he reached out, securing his fingers around one of the chains of the diadem and stroking his thumb over the pearls there. He made a pleased noise, dropping the jewelry and collecting his son’s chin between his finger and thumb, raising his gaze firmly.

            The two regarded one another momentarily, Zarkon drawing his thumb over one of the blue marks below the prince’s eye. Lo nearly shirked away, but kept his anxious stare even, meeting calculating orchid eyes.

            “Haggar,” he said, and the druid raised her head.

            “Yes, my lord,” she responded, staring curiously at the Emperor.

            “Conjure a throne for my son,” Zarkon dropped Lo’s face and turned back to his own seat.

            “Right away,” Haggar responded, stretching out her arm. What appeared to be a panel of circuitry glowed to life beside the existing throne, bits of the black marble floor rising and warping, twisting itself into an approximation of a seat that – while large – was dwarfed by the massive one the emperor occupied. Zarkon gave a gesture that suggested Lo rise and the prince took to his feet, still staring up at his father.

            “Have you anything to say to the court, Prince?” the emperor posed.

            “I…” Lo turned towards the waiting sea of people, barely remembering to keep his head held high. “I’m… happy to finally be home, among my people.”

            During the silence that succeeded his words, he turned fully towards the court, hands balled into shaking fists behind his back, “I’ve waited a long time to be here, where I belong. To be your prince.” He pressed his fist to his chest, sweeping his eyes over the crowd.

            “Vrepit sa.”

            At those words, the court descended like a wave, fisted paws curling to chests as they repeated the salute. Many bowed their heads in reverence, others remained staring at him curiously. The prince felt heat come to his cheeks and he held up his hands to stop them.

            “That’s enough,” he said, surprised at how clearly his voice carried throughout the crowded hall. The power he commanded was frightening – enough to make people rise and fall with his voice alone. Reluctant to continue to wield it, he glanced back to his father in order to check for further instruction. The emperor merely quirked a brow at him and glanced at the prince’s side, making a vague gesture.

            A warm hand clapped over Lo’s shoulder a moment later, the thin-eared Galra having stood forgotten for the duration of his introduction. She was perplexingly tall and heavily armored – almost as much as the emperor himself – her uniform jet black and colored with lines of purple, red, and yellow. She nodded to the emperor decisively and escorted the prince to his throne, releasing his shoulder and kneeling beside it.

            Lo turned back to the audience and sat, glancing at Zarkon in order to discern his body language. He seemed just as relaxed and regal as he had been when Lo had made his initial entrance. Lo mimicked the nonchalance, crossing his legs and propping a cheek up against his fist in order to test the waters. There were no protests, so he began to idly tug at his diadem’s decorative chains, eyes sweeping lazily over the crowd. They stared back at him in a mixture of awe and confusion.

            ‘ _I hold almost all the power here_ ,’ he realized suddenly, the thought snaking into his head like a foreign body. A satisfied smirk came to his lips as he settled further, feeling the anxiety wash away in the wake of this epiphany.

            The woman kneeling beside him finally stood and took her original post in front of the thrones, Zarkon addressing her as she went:

            “Admiral Tzen,” he spoke, immediately drawing Tzen’s attention. She pressed a fist to her chest, bowing deeply.

            “Yes, Your Imperial Highness?”

            “Commence with the disciplinary proceedings,” Zarkon commanded, and the admiral nodded in response, turning out towards the crowd.

            “Bring him out,” Tzen said to no one in particular.

            The massive doors swung open once more and someone stepped in, his stare affixed to the ground. Lotor sat up straight, furrowing his brow in interest.

            ‘ _So that’s the black paladin_?’ he thought. The man looked strange in comparison to the Galra, skin tan rather than purple and the majority of his hair was jet black. However, he was as tall as some of the shorter Galra, and about proportionally broad as a good chunk of them. He was dressed in a set of maroon set of fatigues that – in Lo’s opinion – gripped his person rather nicely. His hands were fastened behind his back with some sort of magnetic cuffs and several steps behind him were a pair of wary-looking guards, their hands hovering over their guns in anxiety. The crowd reacted violently to him, everyone pressing as close as they would dare in order to get a good look at the paladin.

            As soon as he had passed the threshold, one of the guards behind him stepped forward very hesitantly and nudged him in the back with his blaster before jumping backwards in fear. The paladin lowered himself to his knees with as much dignity as he could muster, face obscured by white fringe. Lo craned his head to get a better look.

            “Prisoner number 117-9875, Corporal Shirogane, Grand Champion of his Imperial Highness Emperor Zarkon and servant of the Galra Empire,” Tzen spoke evenly, folding her arms over her chest. “You have been brought here to be tried for desertion of the Galra army and high treason against the Emperor. Do you understand the charges?”

            The paladin was silent, choosing instead to glare up at Tzen. However, the look on his face faded to shock as soon as he saw Lo sitting behind her.

            “ _Respond!_ ” the admiral barked, irate at being ignored. But the paladin did not flinch, eyes unwavering as he regarded Lo. The prince shuffled in place and turned his head away, after which the paladin dropped his gaze once more. Tzen scoffed and jerked her head at the guards.

            One of them shakily raised their blaster, the noise drawing the attention of Shirogane. As he turned his head, the guard fumbled the gun, nearly dropping it.

            “Come now Private, are you frightened of his rathilbe’s repercussions?” Tzen inquired in a mocking tone. A smattering of laughter trickled throughout the court, even Zarkon sniffing in flat amusement. “As if he could reach you here.”

            Tzen ignored the guards and continued: “Corporal, do you understand the misgivings that have caused you to be brought before the emperor on this day?”

            Shirogane continued to stare hard at the floor, the line of his body shaking with either controlled rage or fear. Sending him a withering glance, Tzen reached into her armor and produced what appeared to be a grip. Flicking a switch it extended to an arm’s length: a thin, cruel-looking switch. Tzen stepped towards the kneeling paladin, beginning to circle him like a carrion bird.

            “Do you _deny_ these charges, 117-9875?”

            Shirogane refused to speak or raise his eyes, jaw set. Tzen fit the tip of the switch below his chin, tilting it up to face her, it crackled to life and she reared it back, striking him along the side of his neck. The paladin froze, but did not respond otherwise, a deadened expression crossing his eyes as his chest rose and fell.

            “Do you understand the charges against you, 117-9875?” the admiral inquired once more, striking him again when he did not reply. But again, he did not respond to the attack, merely accepting it once more. And again over the arm. The chest. Over his pretty scar.

            Lo watched in silence, but he felt every one of the blows. He dipped his face into the cup of his hand, scrubbing it over his mouth. Even as he sat, he could feel every empathetic jerk of his shoulders being tracked by the crowd, by Haggar, by Zarkon.

            “Your Imperial Highness,” Tzen said, sounding completely bored. “Permission to dispose of this d’Gal?”

            All eyes were now fixed on the emperor, who sat back in his seat with a pensive look, the tip of his steepled fingers pressed to his lips.

            “Admiral Tzen,” he finally said after a pregnant pause. “Perhaps you will allow Prince Lotor access to the prisoner?”

            Lo felt the base of his heart cave in as Zarkon stared at him, smiling in a mild manner as if he’d invited his son to try his hand at a sport rather than torturing another being.

            Meanwhile, Tzen’s boredom seemed to have evaporated, a genuine smile crossing her features as she returned to Lo, pressing the grip of the switch into his palm.

            “It will charge if you press the thumb imprint,” she directed, making a motion for him to rise. Standing on shaky legs, Lo approached the prisoner, who knelt before him with an absolutely destroyed expression.

            Lo held out the switch, pressing it below the paladin’s chin as Tzen had done just moments before. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, his father’s gaze creeping up his spine. His arm was shaking, the tip of the weapon trembling beside the paladin’s throat. There was something in the paladin’s eyes that trembled on the precipice of fear and something that Lo just couldn’t comprehend. They remained there in stillness, neither prepared to make a move.

            “Lotor,” Zarkon said smoothly from behind his son. There was no elaboration, but the single word carried with it the weight of the empire. This was his chance to make an impression on the court – the expectations could very well swallow him whole.

            Lo withdrew the switch, turning away from the prisoner to glare daggers at the floor. Taking a breath to steady himself, he wheeled around, the switch crossed over his chest to strike—

            And froze.

            A weak breeze beneath the belly of a great lion, desert sun dappling a kind face, warmth of a body pressed against his.

            ‘ _I’m not afraid,_ ’ Lo’s own voice echoed in his head, although it was scratched and diseased, painful to remember. ‘ _I know you won’t hurt me.’_

            The switch fell to his side uselessly, foreign emotions swelling in his chest for a moment before being quelled into submission by the blank stretch of Lo’s memory. The paladin was looking at him uncertainly, body still rigid. Lo pulled his eyes away from him to glance at Tzen.

            “You do it,” he shrugged. The Admiral stared at him, genuinely shocked. In the corner of his eye, Haggar’s head tilted towards him sharply.

            “What?” Tzen’s eyes narrowed.

            Lo shook his head, staring down at the paladin with a look of contempt: “This is below me – I’m the crown prince, not the court’s clown.”

            Again, there was a rumble throughout the crowd. Lotor stared up at them, eyes sharp, and they were immediately silenced. He glared back at the others; Tzen looked completely taken aback and the slightest hint of anger was beginning to eek across Zarkon’s face. The emperor glanced over at Haggar purposefully, nodding his head.

            Lo’s throat squeezed, white noise singing brightly over the murmurs of the court – fragments of white and violet blinked over his vision. Pressure seized his wrist, brought it back and—

            And everything after that happened very quickly.

            The switch fell across the paladin’s chest, electricity lancing brightly over his chest plate and leaving a singe in its back. Exposed skin caught by the sparks, Shirogane reared back with a startled noise. Mechanically, Lo’s arm shot out once more, jerking as if it had been tugged by an invisible rope. Before he knew it, he was holding the paladin by the throat.

            ‘ _It feels good, doesn’t it?_ ’ a silky thought crawled into Lo’s mind, wrapping around it in the haze.

            ‘ _Does it?_ ’ he thought, even as his fingers manipulated themselves, squeezing tighter, the paladin’s jugular trembling under the L of his thumb and index fingers.

            ‘ _It does,_ ’ the notion replied, and the sense of power electrified him, running through his veins like a toxic current. Lo withdrew, as if the paladin’s skin had been scalding. Shirogane fell to his knees, bowed to the ground as he struggled to catch his breath. Lo nearly dropped the switch as he took a step back, senses trembling back into place. He was shaking, unsure of how to proceed. There was nothing to connect him to the person crumpled in front of him, but an inky fear was taking root in Lo’s gut.

            ‘ _They turn people into monsters,_ ’ Cora’s words offered themselves in explanation and Lo immediately understood that he was not exempt. There was an acute awareness of that silken voice draped over his shoulders, the notion that it would seize him again if he continued to hesitate.

            “Do you understand the charges?” Lo inquired coldly. He needed to be convincing unless he wanted to be thrown under once more and take the paladin down with him.

            The alien rose to his knees and nodded shakily. Lo shook his head, unsatisfied with the response.

            “ _Say it_ ,” he snarled, sparking the switch warningly.

            “I understand the charges.”

            Forcing a smile, Lo turned to Tzen, handing back the switch. The Admiral stared at him, mildly suspicious, before glancing down to the man still kneeling before them.

            “What say you, Your Imperial Highness?” Tzen inquired as Lo returned to his throne. “What should the punishment be?”

            Zarkon regarded Lo. The prince chose to keep an unaffected air, shrugging silkily.  

            “I think it’d be more interesting to keep him alive,” he spoke.

            There was some amount of an uncomfortable ripple throughout the court as the prince spoke unaddressed. Zarkon closed his eyes for a brief moment before they snapped open and he smiled cruelly.

            “Even in the face of treason,” the emperor professed, standing and stepping down from his throne. “Our society is one of honor. Take him back to the arena where he may prove his worth.”

            This certainly got a reaction out of the paladin. His eyes widened, chest heaving violently as he began to whisper under his breath, shaking his head. Again, Tzen clicked her tongue and extended the switch, shocking him with the point. He fell silent, but began to shake violently.

            “Permission to speak, Your Imperial Highness?” Admiral Tzen requested, quickly being granted. “What should I do with him in the mean time?”

            “We won’t discharge him just yet, but perhaps a demotion to Lance Corporal is appropriate,” Zarkon decided. He paused and Lo could _feel_ him calculating, the emperor’s gaze sweeping over him and then the fallen paladin.

            “Lotor,” the emperor began. “You needn’t hesitate when it comes to suppressing your lessers – perhaps you need a lesson?”

            He affixed his eyes to Shirogane’s prostrate form, “I want you to teach this prideful d’Gal its place – beneath your boot. Besides,” Zarkon tilted his head towards Lo, looking almost fond. “What kind of father would I be if I did not present my son with a gift upon his return home?”

            Lo nodded stiffly, although he felt every inch of the criticism in the emperor’s words weighing him down before the court, “Thank you, Father.”

            Zarkon returned to his throne, looking thoughtful. “Maray,” he summoned.

            A Galra in the crowd before him stepped forward, saluting, “Vrepit sa. What may I do for Your Imperial Majesty?”

            “Since it is not the season of Coliseum, arrange a tournament in honor of my son’s return,” Zarkon commanded airily. “Let us see how your champion performs, Prince Lotor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you guys I'm so sorry this chapter is so late ;;;;;; Life's been getting pretty crazy with the holidays coming up, life happening so much, and also I had to rework this chapter several times before we were happy with it. We were waiting until yesterday to post it so that we'd always be on the Friday schedule, but it completely slipped my mind. I'll try to make sure that it doesn't happen again fssjkldkjdk
> 
> So what does everyone think about Prince Lo? And why is Shiro getting called Corporal??? And most importantly who is the mysterious purple mouse!!?? We'd really love to hear everyone's feedback! Your comments mean so much to us! <3
> 
> We'll be aiming to post the next chapter on December 31st, New Year's Eve, so look back for an update then! Happy holidays to everyone!


	5. Uncertainty

**Satellite**

**Chapter Five: Uncertainty**

Takashi Shirogane x Keith Kogane

_Voltron: Legendary Defender_

                                                                                                 

            Shiro scarcely remembered the walk back to his quarters, flanked by cautious guards marching at a steady clip. His head felt fuzzy, vision blurring uncomfortably at the edges as the tunneled center remained in sharp focus. The panic he had felt so acutely in the throne room had dwindled to an ambient thrum, the apathetic chill of acceptance washing over.

            He would be thrown into the Coliseum once more.

            It was a risk he had been well aware of, even as he stole aboard the Red Lion in secret. The plan had always been simple enough in construction but delicate in execution and he had grimly steeled himself for the reality that he would be made to bloodily claw his path to what the Galra deemed as honor. Providing, of course, that they didn’t just choose to execute him on the spot. But in the end Keith had seen to his safety, hadn’t he?  

            _‘Keith,’_ he pondered distantly, following the guards through the maze of City Station. What had become of the red paladin was another mystery altogether.

 _‘What did they call him? Lotor? He responded to it with ease, like he’d heard it his entire life. Just what did that reconditioning do to him? What did they make him forget?’_ Then, with a twinge of selfish anxiety, _‘Did he even forget me?’_

            But Shiro didn’t have much longer to contemplate the situation, the guards pulling short before his door and snapping to attention. With a mixture of reverence and disgust the one to his left thrust something at him – a simple black card with a serial stamped across the bottom in silver: 117-9875. Shiro suppressed the instinct to flinch, squashing down every vague memory of his prior captivity as he accepted the key and ran it through the entry panel. As if concerned their charge might attack them, the guards stepped away as the door flew open, eyeing him warily. The paladin considered them briefly, too emotionally exhausted to do much else and stepped into his home without another word.

            Nai ran to his feet at once, issuing a sharp string of mews as Shiro locked the door behind him, back pressed to the wall as he slid down to the floor. He offered her a weak smile, holding out his hand for her to nuzzle against. It was a small gesture, but Shiro found it comforting, the first lick of kindness he had received in many painful hours.

            “Hey there,” he intoned, slowly feeling grounded by the warmth of another being. “You’re probably hungry, huh? I think I found some food in the pantry for you earlier.” Nai released a trill of apparent understanding, tails swishing hopefully. This time Shiro could smile in genuineness.

            “Alright,” he placated, rising from his crumpled position to rifle through the cabinets. His body still felt like it was on autopilot, just going through the motions of its own accord, but his thoughts were beginning to clear in the wake of his shock.

 _‘I need to figure out what’s going on,’_ he rationed, reaching for the tub of what looked like green pellets and dubiously filling Nai’s bowl with them. She rubbed against his legs in gratitude before setting herself on the meal, munching with gusto.

            “Well at least you seem happy,” Shiro muttered, pacing the room fitfully.

            He still wasn’t entirely certain where he was. Sure, he was on City Station, the satellite capital of Gal: that much was obvious. What confused him was everything else. He had anticipated being returned to the cell he had remembered, dingy and dimly lit, the muffled cries of Coliseum fighters surrounding him. They had all been selected for being the strongest of the captives, thus holding the highest entertainment value. The others – their friends and families – had been shuffled off to other fates, their own most likely sealed in a violent death. Shiro had quickly learned to stop trying to befriend them, the continuous loss only driving him further to the brink of mental collapse.

            But that hadn’t been his fate, the entrapment of the cell having been replaced with a modest if comfortable flat. Shiro frowned at his surroundings, trying to piece it all together. He was housed within the private sector of what seemed to be a block of residences for members of the military. He had a bed – something he was quick to feel grateful for – and a bathroom all to himself, not to mention the luxury of a pet. The fragmentary evidence of the day began to assemble before him with unsettling clarity. The lodgings, the clothing, the manner of address, and the charges held against him, all of it led to one conclusion: he was a soldier of the Galra Empire and had become so of his own accord.

            “Corporal,” he murmured, testing the sound of the word on his tongue. That’s what he had been called, ‘Corporal Shirogane’. It certainly sounded better than ‘Champion’, but not by much. He paused in his pacing, growing uneasy. To be a titled officer must have been seen as an honor, something that could only be gained by steady progression through the ranks. And he had only been gone a year, the stretch of time patchy to his own memory.

            “What have I done?” he asked aloud. It must have been significant to warrant such status, and if what he had known of the Galra was any indication, he knew it had to have come at the cost of a lot of bloodshed. He felt unclean.

 _‘That’s not me,’_ he protested, feeling his conviction slip. _‘I would never have agreed to this, I would never have let myself harm anybody. I’m not a violent person; I would never want to align myself with something so insidious. To serve Zarkon? Just the thought makes me sick. There must be some kind of mistake, there has to be.’_

            No evidence came to comfort him. It was beyond clear that he had gained a reputation upon City Station, and moreover that it was one that induced fear.

            Shiro took a slow breath to steady his accelerating heart. No matter how much he didn’t want it to be so, he couldn’t afford to deny the truth. Keith’s safety – his own safety, Thace’s safety – all rested on his ability to think clearly and to plan and respond quickly. If being a part of the Galra military was part of his fate, then so be it: he would find every means possible of using that status as leverage in their favor.

            “Besides,” he laughed resignedly, “All that time I was fighting so I could come home. So I could come back to Keith. And there’s not a thing I wouldn’t do to make that happen. I guess the same applies now, too.”

            He exhaled deeply, shrugging the kinks out of his shoulders before heading to the bathroom. He had no other clothes to change into but he figured the warmth of the water – or rather, the mist – would be at the very least soothing. Nai followed at his heels, watching him with interest.

            “You should leave,” he warned as he stripped down. “You’re not going to like this in a few minutes.”

            He turned to analyze the shower, angled into a corner of the room and demarcated by a wall to one side and a thin surround to keep water from flowing out into the rest of the bathroom. To the other side were a series of vents, installed in even rows along three walls that formed a cubicle. High powered dryers, he realized, meant to accommodate the fur of the average Galra. Shiro sniffed a laugh, unable to help from finding humor in the absurdity of it all.

            Stepping into the shower he turned on the head, sighing in relief as the warmth of the mist ghosted over his body. He wet his hair, running his hands over his scalp thoughtfully. He had been purposefully avoiding the topic of Keith, but he knew he could no longer put it off if he was going to be of any use at all. Thin welts from the cut of the switch and sparks reddened as he bathed, cruel reminders of the treatment that had been doled out to him by none other than his boyfriend. He knew Keith inside and out and could say without doubt that Keith would never intentionally hurt him.

            “Something must have happened,” he concluded, searching for whatever constituted as soap to the Galra.

            He replayed the events in his mind carefully, trying to remember every detail. There had been a moment, just for a second, where Keith’s composure had seemed to slip. He had looked devastated, horrified.

            “He remembered me,” Shiro realized, feeling a flush of relief. “Even vaguely, something told him to stop, that he didn’t want to hurt me.” The revelation grew more meaningful the longer he thought it through. “That means that whatever reconditioning the Druids performed wasn’t perfect,” he added. “They weren’t able to erase everything from Keith’s consciousness; there was still something of his former self there. And if something triggered it, then it can be done again.”

            ‘ _I can save him,’_ he finished with a dawning sense of peace. It would be difficult, but that was hardly a concern. If he could restore Keith to his true self then Keith would be safe and the mission could continue as planned. The fact that Shiro was more likely to survive it was just an added perk.

            “So,” he mused, “What was the trigger?”

            The most obvious answer was Shiro himself. It hadn’t been until Keith was forced into interacting with him that he had shown hesitation. But was it due to signs of fear? Of accepting defeat? Of love? The conclusion wasn’t refined enough to appease him.

            “Occam’s razor, right?” he reminded himself. “The simplest answer is usually the correct one. Think, he didn’t seem affected when I first came in the room. He didn’t even know who I was. At that point he was just the prince, was… Lotor, I guess,” Shiro worked aloud. “The first time he was Keith – truly Keith – was right before he made to strike me. Ergo, that would mean that his trigger is either my being in pain or having to inflict pain.”

            It wasn’t hard to weigh the options. Keith had made a name for himself back at the Garrison for being a bit of a punk. He had caused the majority of the fistfights he had engaged in and had jumped at the first hint of danger. Hell, he had even picked a fight with Matt Holt when the older boy had graded his paper poorly on account of being the class TA. Keith was not about to hesitate to cause injury, and Shiro knew he was committed enough to their plan to not even hesitate for his sake.

            Which left only one solution: Keith couldn’t bear to see Shiro hurting. With his memories muddled by the influences of the Druids Keith wouldn’t have been likely to recall the mission at all, and without that to guide him he would have had no script to follow. All he was likely to remember was the vulnerability Shiro had permitted him to see over the course of their friendship and subsequent relationship. Despite the situation, Shiro smiled fondly, warmth radiating from his chest. Even in the worst of times, a part of Keith still loved him and wanted to protect him. The only thing left to do was to return the sentiment.

            Well, if it came down to being at risk of harm, then Shiro knew he would gladly and hardheadedly put himself in danger until Keith came to his senses. Which wouldn’t be hard to do, considering his sudden arrangements. Shiro’s face rearranged into a begrudging scowl, turning off the tap only to find that Nai had been at his feet the whole time. She chirped joyfully, lapping at the pool of water slowly draining from the shower floor before shaking each of her paws in an attempt to dry them.

            “You weird cat,” Shiro marveled, fetching a towel from the cabinet and rubbing her down. Her fur puffed as she dried, turning her into a ball of lavender fluff. Something familiar scratched at the back of Shiro’s mind and he banished it quickly. “Come on,” he voiced instead, patting dry his body with a fresh towel before changing back into his uniform, “Let’s go see what terrible fate awaits me.”

            Shiro knew without having to be informed that news of the impending matches would spread like wildfire. Coliseum season was a big to do, after all, not unlike how the Superbowl had been back on Earth. Everyone knew it was going down and next to everyone watched it. The fact that the event was out of season and was held in honor of the lost prince was bound to only double that interest.

            “And, I suppose,” he admitted ruefully, “The fact that I’m the one doing the fighting.”

            It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: a dead screen slotted into the wall beside the bed. A brush of his fingers brought it to life, displaying a simple menu written in Galran. Shiro paused, frowning at the foreign characters, the symbols slowly translating into words that he remembered. Finding a remote beside the screen with the most minimalist design he’d ever seen, Shiro sat upon the bed, scrolling over to a tab of the menu that was highlighted in red.

            A message composed like an e-mail displayed prominently, once again written entirely in Galran. Shiro sighed in frustration, skimming over the words he didn’t know the meanings of. Composed by Royal Event Organizer Maray, the gist of the announcement was clear enough: an open invitation to what would be a multi-day event of celebrating the crown prince’s return to his people. A schedule of events made up a block of the message, a litany of pomp and circumstance that Keith – under regular conditions – would have been loath to partake in.

            Shiro’s stomach soured as he finished the list. As Zarkon had intended, Shiro had been proclaimed as Keith’s Champion, and due to the nature of the event he would be a contestant in each of the three battles arranged in the prince’s honor. The first fight, however, would be the following night.

            Despite himself, Shiro whimpered, curling up and letting himself tip sideways onto the mattress. He wasn’t ready. As much experience as he had, as much training as he had undergone, he knew he wasn’t prepared for what awaited him. Sure, he would go full bore to ensure his survival as well as Keith’s, but the evident waves of dissociation, fear, and trauma made it clear enough that he was at risk of shutting down the second he entered the arena. There was only so much he could do to power through it: what scars he was left with weren’t fixable, wounds that could only be managed and coped with.

            Shiro bit at his lip, recognizing that he should try and distract himself before his thoughts grew out of control. Having little other comfort he flipped to the news broadcast, bits and pieces of comprehensible Galran grabbing his awareness. He wasn’t really watching it – it was all about the festival, after all, the majority of footage depicted the festooning of the City Station.

            Nai jumped up beside him, still a little damp, but he hugged her to his chest anyway. She protested only a moment before curling up against his arm and slipping into sleepy purrs. Shiro pet her distantly, half-memories floating across his subconscious that seemed just out of reach. There was something about the place – something about his quarters – that rang of familiarity, of something that he felt was important. Uncomfortably he recalled another piece of his sentencing in the throne room, something that had been said.

 _“Come now Private, are you frightened of his rathilbe’s repercussions?”_ Admiral Tzen had taunted, _“As if he could reach you here.”_

            “Rathilbe,” Shiro repeated quietly. The definition wasn’t hard to parse out. It had only been earlier that day that Thace had explained to him the second half of the word, one that meant something akin to spouse or partner. The first word had been one he’d remembered due to its similarity to its English counterpart, wrath.

            “Hate-spouse,” Shiro translated. He could still remember the strange romantic convention the Galra held for one another, a dichotomous classification of relationships as either being traditionally romantic or competitively spiteful, both of which were typified by consenting partners that held equal amounts of power. The relationship Admiral Tzen had referred to, then, had been the latter.

 _‘Who could I have felt that way about?’_ he frowned, tugging subconsciously at an ear. _‘I don’t remember any relationships before Keith; I can’t remember feeling any sort of romantic attraction before Keith. I mean, I’m demi so who –?’_

            He froze, suddenly aware of the skin beneath his fingertips. There, in the center of his lobe was a hardened bit of cartilage, a little disc that he could roll between his forefinger and thumb. Confused, he mapped the rim of his ear, pausing when he found three bumps of thick tissue along the back. Shiro rolled over on the bed – careful not to disturb Nai – to find a matching healed-over hole on his lobe but no other marks.

            “I had piercings?” he murmured aloud. The divots had been small enough to escape notice, but the truth of the matter was Shiro didn’t spend much time looking in the mirror to have observed the difference. It just wasn’t something he could bear to do.

 _‘Did anyone else notice?’_ he wondered. _‘Did Keith? He must have… he was just too mindful to say anything. Probably didn’t want to bring up anything unpleasant… if only I knew what that unpleasantry was about.’_

            Distantly, he knew there had to be a meaning behind them.

            “Not now,” he groaned, flipping back over to curl his body around Nai’s own. He could always puzzle it out later and he no longer had the mental or emotional fortitude left to expend on any more uncomfortable surprises. Filled with misery and unease he lapsed into sleep, lulled to dreamless unconscious by the warmth of purring and the muffled hum of the TV.

* * *

 

            Shiro squinted in the bright lights of the arena, ears numb and ringing at the roar of the crowd. Somewhere someone was speaking over an intercom, their booming voice piped in from every angle. He knew he was being announced and likely his opponent was, as well. He steeled himself against the information – it wouldn’t matter who he was pitted against: the only option was to win.

            “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do,” he whispered to himself, “No matter what.”

            Vision clearing, he scanned the stands. Familiarity crept forward and as if on instinct he turned to find the raised dais bedecked in royal violets. Zarkon sat imperiously upon his throne, Keith – _Lotor_ , Shiro had to remind himself – flanked alongside him. Shiro couldn’t make out his features, and wondered how he felt.

            ‘ _This would be his first Coliseum match,’_ he considered, stepping more fully into the arena. _‘Keith would be horrified, but Lotor? Was he given memories of past matches? Does he know that this is life or death?’_

            He didn’t really have time to worry about it. Overhead among the myriad screens was a timer. Shiro knew without having to understand the characters that it was rapidly counting down. Steeling himself, he examined the ring, at once made uneasy by its construction. It had seen many iterations, each arranged with increasing difficulty to traverse as the season wore on, fatiguing the fighters more quickly and driving them further and further to their moral and mental extremes. With sudden clarity, the memory of a mountain of boulders overlaid the ring, the feel of their craggy faces cutting against Shiro’s single palm as he scaled the height, desperate to survive. The match had taken the majority of the day but by the end of it Shiro had emerged the victor.

            But the arena before him was unlike any he could possibly recall. What he could make of it was obscured by high walls, each at least a foot taller than himself and positioned at right angles. Before him was an opening, paths branching to the right and left and disappearing out of sight. His own face stared back at him infinitely.

            “Mirrors,” he breathed in disbelief, “A maze of mirrors.”

            Above him a siren blared and the clock ran out. The match had begun.

            Shiro strode ahead, instinct telling him to run through as fast as possible. But the illusion brought on by the mirrors made him wary, knowing it would be all too easy to become trapped or turned around. He reached the fork and turned right, bracing a hand against the left wall. Somewhere he had read a piece of trivia that said that the best way out of a maze was to keep one hand to the walls – he could only hope that that information was correct.

            Hesitating a moment, he examined the glass, scrubbing his palm over its surface. “Great,” he muttered, “It doesn’t smudge.”

 _‘Now what?’_ he strategized, eyeing the length of the row warily. He still wasn’t sure who or what his opponent was or how fast they could travel. With the tight confines and confusion created by the maze he knew the chance for accidental self-injury was high.

 _‘If I can’t make a trail for myself to backtrack then I’ll have to do my best to remember each turn I make,’_ he realized. He briefly considered ripping his uniform to bits to leave scraps of fabric as markers. _‘That would take too much time,’_ he discounted quickly, _‘The sooner I finish this the better my chances of survival are. Besides, even cloth is a barrier against an attack; the last thing I need to do is destroy it.’_

            He winced, his own image surrounding him from every side. Feelings of claustrophobia closed in as discomfort rose in his chest. He hated having to look at himself, the sharp instinct to escape overwhelming him. He cast his gaze downward, suddenly struck by the arena’s floor. It was dark – some sort of shiny black – but it was a surface that wasn’t mirrored.

 _‘That also means…’_ he processed, glancing upwards and finding the roof of the stadium. While the walls of the maze obscured the stands, he could still make out the positioning of the lights and rafters. _‘If I can’t make my own path markers,’_ he realized with a wash of relief, _‘Then I can utilize what already exists to my advantage.’_

            Idea forming, he progressed down the row, keeping his hand pressed to the wall while he gazed upwards. Taking another turn he grinned, confidence unfurling in his breast. “Perfect,” he smirked.

            Above and before him were the monitors, the clock counting out the minutes that had elapsed. They were an easy enough waypoint to follow. And they were suspended in the dead center of the arena.

 _‘If I can make my way to stand just below them then I will be halfway through the maze,’_ Shiro analyzed, making his way forward. _‘So long as I keep the target north of me I should be able to make it.’_

            The maze wore on, the walls seeming to grow tighter and tighter as Shiro progressed. The many branching paths seemed to multiply, now running at diagonals in addition to straight rows. The trepidation in his gut tripled the further he went. Nothing had happened. There were no monsters, no traps. There hadn’t been a cage of dead ends only to be resolved by finding a door hidden in the face of the mirrors. There had been nothing. Just a simple maze.

            Shiro bit his lip, not taking his eyes off his marker. The nearer it drew the more vigilant he became, straining his senses to detect even the slightest sound. Surely there must be a trick: the matches had never once missed the chance to throw in a near-insurmountable opponent and Shiro knew this match would be no exception.

            “So where are they?” he frowned. A prickling of fear circled his brain, the variable possibilities filling him with dread.

 _‘What if they’re invisible?’_ he panicked, _‘What if they’ve already seen me, are tracking me? How would I fight something like that?’_

            But still nothing happened and Shiro slowly realized he was traveling in a circular pattern, the numbers of the clock growing harder to see as he spiraled in closer to the center. At length the pathway widened and ahead Shiro could make out an exit. Shaking the nervous energy from his limbs he paced towards it, bursting out into the center of a round clearing. The cheering of the crowd reached crescendo, eagerly awaiting his next move.

            Shiro froze, dropping instinctually into a fighting stance. The center of the maze was more confined than he would have liked, mirrored like the rest of the labyrinth and beset in circumference by eight entrances. Getting spun around once would disorient him as even the landmark of the clock would appear equidistant from any path.

            He scanned the small field, eyeing each entrance in turn. At the sound of footfalls Shiro tensed, attuning to the noise in an instant. An audible ripple passed through the crowd, a figure beginning to emerge directly across from him. It stepped out into the light, smirking as an orchid aura of intent emanated from its right arm.

            His enemy was none other than himself.

 _‘Are you impressed?’_ a voice wormed its way into his head. Shiro grit his teeth, made woozy by the sudden intrusion. _‘He looks just like you, no flaws this time,’_ Haggar crooned. ‘ _Your shadow has gotten stronger since the last time you fought.’_

            “ _Enough_ ,” Shiro spat, driving the words from his mind. His double laughed humorlessly, head listing to the side.

            “Miss me?” he called by way of greeting.

            “What’s to miss?” Shiro glared, moving slowly as the other began to circle him.

            “Just reality.”

            “Reality?”

            “Of your _true_ self,” the shadow grinned, launching across the clearing in moments, arm poised to strike. Shiro ducked, the hiss of energy singing just passed his ear. He rolled to the side, rising quickly to block a second attack before bounding back as far as the walls would let him. The clone laughed, squaring off against him once more.

            “Running so soon?” he taunted, “How like you.”

            Shiro charged with a growl, feeling the heat crackle over his prosthetic. Feinting at the last minute, he swiped for the other’s legs. But the shadow was quicker, sidestepping with preternatural speed. He swung around rapidly, driving a heel between Shiro’s shoulder blades and knocking him to the ground.

            Shiro grunted, feeling a weight shift on top of him. With effort, he made to escape, only to have his shoulder yanked painfully to the side, his body following the momentum as he was flipped onto his back. The shadow repositioned, straddling his chest, mechanical arm vised over his own. Shiro struggled against the sturdy grip, free hand scrabbling forward to claw at his opponent’s face.

            The shadow clenched tighter, metal creaking beneath his fingers. _‘If he breaks it, this is all over,’_ Shiro processed. Pulsing with adrenaline he rocked his hips, trying to unseat his clone. The other wavered; balance disturbed just enough for Shiro to push him away. Sending a kick to his torso, he drove the shadow to the ground, retreating to the center of the maze.

            “See?” the other jeered, undeterred by an attack that would have left a mortal enemy breathless. “You’re always running.”

            “Shut up,” Shiro barked.

            “Voltron has made you a coward,” the shadow pressed, surging forward. “You used to be great, to have honor. And you’ve forgotten it all, haven’t you?”

            Shiro met his advance head on, parrying against the blow with his prosthetic and shoving the other man away. He lunged for the abdomen, thrusting his shoulder hard into the solar plexus. The double staggered, laughing despite the apparent pain.

            “All that blood you spilt?” he continued, slamming an elbow into the jointure of Shiro’s neck and making him wheeze. “The taste of it?”

            Shiro struggled away, his path blocked by a flurry of swipes. Searing pain lanced across his side and he gasped, hand pressed against it in an instant. The double pushed him, sending Shiro bodily into the surround of mirrors. Cornering him, he knocked Shiro’s hand away, covering the wound with his own and digging his fingers inside of it. Shiro gagged, nauseated as they wiggled with a squelch of tissue. The shadow grinned, extracting his hand to smear the blood seeping across his palm along the length of Shiro’s jaw.

            “This feeling?” he crooned. “The feel of it warm on your hands?”

            “That isn’t who I am!” Shiro spat, fighting to reorient himself.

            “But it is,” his opponent returned venomously, breath hot against Shiro’s ear. “It’s who you’ve always been. It’s _me_.”

            “Fuck off,” Shiro snarled, sinking his teeth against the other’s neck, biting with bruising force. The double howled, reeling back and grappling to remove Shiro from him. A blow glanced his head, a dull ringing echoing in his skull. Suddenly Shiro was on the ground, crumpled and dizzy. He rolled out of the way as another blow aimed for his face, scrabbling to stand as he ran towards the nearest entrance to the labyrinth. If he could put some distance between them, he might have enough time to regroup and plan an attack.

            The double called after him, the steady fall of his feet pounding behind him. “Come on _Lance_ Corporal,” he mocked. “Show me the strength of a d’Gal!”

            Shiro hissed at the insult, mind racing as he tried to navigate the maze. He had to be getting close, the spirals of the walls giving way to angular paths. Maybe he could lose his attacker within it, buy himself enough time to get free, think of something, anything.

            The double continued to taunt him, voice seeming to come from all directions. “All your former glories;” he called, “Shall I recount them for you?”

            Shiro rounded a corner, struggling for breath as his own voice followed him.

            “You beat a man to death with a rock.”

            A split in the maze, and Shiro cut left.

            “Bit out the throat of another.”

            His own image running at him, and Shiro was no longer sure who he was seeing.

            “Pushed one to their death, impaled by the crags below.”

            “Stop it!” Shiro yelled, banking down another row.

            “Shall I keep going?”

            Shiro could feel the pound of his heart in his veins, thick and ripe with fear. He was surrounded by nothing but himself, and he whirled about, increasingly aware that he was trapped. His figure multiplied, and suddenly a vise of pressure seized around his throat. Shiro choked, dragged bodily backwards until his back was flush with his attacker’s chest. He could see his double in the endless reflections, smirking against his ear as his free hand wrenched one of Shiro’s own behind his back.

            “Oh?” the shadow crooned. “Now this is something familiar, isn’t it?”

            “What?” Shiro coughed out, head screaming with pain. The skin at his throat – already bruised from Keith’s attack – began to prickle, and Shiro became dimly aware that it was being burned, the glow of the weaponized prosthetic searing him.

            “And to think,” his opponent scoffed, giving him a firm shake. “You’ve even forgotten _him_.”

            Violently, Shiro was propelled forward, slammed against the mirrors. The double cackled, fingers fisting themselves at the back of Shiro’s head, tightening across his skull. With unbelievable strength, he bashed Shiro into the glass, a crack running along its surface. Shiro screamed, clawing desperately to break free. With a burst of adrenaline he swung his body to the side, launching his attacker bodily into the dead end.

            He set upon his double immediately, arm sparking with light as he made his first swing. With a satisfying, otherworldly feeling, it phased through the shadow’s shoulder, making him cry out. Shiro swung again, the blow connecting with the other’s ribs. The mirror shattered behind them but nothing but inky mist seeped from the wounds.

            “There!” the double crowed. “You’re coming to your senses now! Revel in it!” Flattening his hand he drove it into the exposed part of Shiro’s underarm, a second strike to the neck dropping him in seconds. Shiro groaned, scraping through the shards of glass that bit at his skin. Warmth trickled down the side of his face, some of the fragments embedded into his hairline. He whirled around, radiating with spite.

            “There,” the other sneered, “That bloodlust in your eyes – did you miss it? Did you miss the high of killing?”

            “You might be the exception,” Shiro snapped, forcing himself to his knees. Rising, he scrubbed the blood from his face, growing dizzy from the wound in his side.

            “Exception?” the clone repeated. “Hardly. You’ve killed so many. Tortured. Maimed. Broken.”

            “Shut _up_!” Shiro growled, racing forward and matching the other blow for blow.

            “They’re right what they say about you:” the shadow cooed, “A monster.”

            The word cut through Shiro, a festering wound at the core of his psyche. Enraged, his attacks grew wilder, drawing black smoke from his opponent’s battered body. Parrying an oncoming punch, he angled his glowing arm sharply and brought it down across his rival’s opposing elbow. The shadow faltered, staring in disbelief as the limb separated from his body.

            “You can’t deny it now:” he barked a hysterical laugh, “This is fun! This thrill, it’s coming back to you. The hunt.”

            “You’re sick,” Shiro accused, chasing after his double. He took a corner sharply, only to be jumped and tackled to the ground. They rolled about, a mass of clawing hands and vicious teeth, snapping over fingers and scratching at skin.

            “Are you going to kill me?” the shadow panted out.

            “What choice do I have?” Shiro returned.

            “Do you accept it now?” the clone insisted, prosthetic pinned above his head roughly. “Do you realize who we are?”

            “You don’t exist,” Shiro promised, pummeling into the other’s ribs until they creaked warningly.

            “Yet I wonder who the real one is:” the double rasped, “You, or me?”

            “You won’t fuck with me.”

            “Accept it,” the shadow commanded, hitching a leg over Shiro’s thigh and digging his booted heel into a hip.

            “ _No_.”

            “Accept it!” the other insisted, twisting in his opponent’s grasp.

            “I _won’t_.”

            “Then it’s my turn,” the shadow challenged, shaking Shiro free of him, a second kick catching the paladin by the shoulder. “I’ll do what you cannot and I’ll be all that’s left of you.”

            Forced back, Shiro righted himself, reaching for his enemy’s ankle and dragging him within his reach. The shadow contorted his body forward, propelling himself onto his knees and crackling a stream of light into the base of Shiro’s neck.

            “Worthless!” the mimic screamed, slamming a fist into Shiro’s collarbone. “Just give up!” And the bone beneath his assault splintered. “You’re a shell of your former self. You reject what makes you strong.”

            Shiro coughed, the energy seeping from him steadily. The arena was growing darker, cloudy spots whirling across his vision. Even as he felt the consciousness slip from his body, a single image caught his eye. There, just over the peak of the towering labyrinth he could make out the outline of the dais.

            “I know what makes me strong.”

            The shadow snarled in disgust, wailing on Shiro as the two grappled for the upper hand. “Killer, monster!” he punctuated with every strike, “Power hungry: a slave and a slut! What honor do you have left to fight for?”

            Shiro laughed, oddly placid.

            “My _own_ ,” he answered, prosthetic surging forward to meet his enemy, puncturing the line of the facial scar he so detested and phasing through the back of his head. The shadow jerked violently, gurgling with black smoke as it crumpled over Shiro’s body, weighty and final.

            Shiro smiled, eyelids drooping as the Druid’s puppet deteriorated into mist. He could reconcile with his disparate selves. No, there was no running now.

            “Vrepit sa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and welcome back to Satellite! Sorry that the schedule has been so inconsistent -- the holidays were pretty busy for us! Right now we're trying to churn out a as many chapters as we can so that we can keep a steady update schedule. Expect updates every other Friday from now until further notice. 
> 
> Ches wrote this chapter and it was absolutely wild to listen to her read it to me, even when I knew exactly what was going to happen. My heart was racing when she read me the fight scene!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support and love! 
> 
> ~Moosey


	6. Charade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> So you know how Moosey and I said that we'd be updating Satellite every other week? Well we decided to challenge ourselves and see how much we can write before the release of Season 2 of Voltron, and so far we've written up to chapter twelve, with parts of chapters twelve and thirteen already finished. That being said, we will be adopting a weekly posting schedule, sticking to Fridays (seeing as we have enough material as it stands now to last for six more weeks)! We hope this change in posting will be exciting for you all and that you continue to read and enjoy Satellite. Thank you as always for your amazing support.
> 
> <3 Ches

            A sharp knock startled Shiro into consciousness, his groggy mind trying to process too much at once. He sat up on one elbow, squinting around at his surroundings. He certainly wasn’t in his quarters, the trappings of the bedroom he found himself within too luxurious for someone of his standing. The mattress beneath him shifted and he curiously turned towards the source, finding none other than Keith spread eagled across the bed, one leg hooked over Shiro’s own. Well that was nothing new.

            “How the hell did I get here?” he pondered aloud. He vaguely remembered being carried out of the arena, a team of medics surrounding him and tending to his wounds with what must have been Quintessence. He winced at the fact, guilty how grateful he felt to find the pain markedly diminished. After that point things grew less certain. He had been sent to a feast of some sort. Keith had been there. Zarkon, too. There had been a lot of celebrating. And drinking. Definitely drinking.

            Shiro shot Keith’s slumbering form a dubious look. _‘This is like the Garrison all over again, isn’t it?’_

            “Feelin’ alright?” a voice caused him to jump. He stared wildly about the chambers, clutching at the bedsheets. The speaker chuckled, rising from her chair and stepping to the center of the room. “Hey there,” she beamed slyly.

            “Who –?” Shiro began, shaking his head and reprioritizing his thoughts. “How long have you been here?”

            “Long enough to know that nothing happened,” the other shrugged, nodding over towards Keith. “The Prince here was drunk off his ass so you practically carried him back here and tucked him in. He didn’t want you to leave for some reason and just sorta pulled you in bed with him. Then you both passed out.”

            “Oh,” Shiro returned quietly, feeling greatly relieved. He would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened between them while Keith was intoxicated.

            “I’m Cora, by the way,” the Galra introduced herself. “I’m his handmaiden.” There was another, more insistent knock at the door and she scowled at it. “And that’s probably Maray, here to nag the Prince about his ‘royal duties’,” she sniffed, dragging out the final words mockingly.

            “Maray?” Shiro repeated, finding the name familiar.

            “Yeah, the royal planner guy,” Cora flapped a hand. “And they’re probably pissed that His Royal Hot Mess is still asleep. Now do yourself a favor and go hide.”

            “What?” Shiro blinked, already climbing out of bed.

            “Hide,” Cora insisted. “Unless you _want_ to deal with all the rumors about you two fucking? I don’t care if it’s true; you just probably don’t want to be treated like ylentma.”

            Shiro flushed scarlet and nodded wordlessly, scrambling to hide behind an ornate dressing screen. He waited, listening as the door opened and Cora addressed a rather exasperated sounding person.

            “Hey Maray.”

            “Good _day_ Miss Cora,” the other returned tightly. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of the prince’s morning preparations?” they pressed, sounding very much as if they wished that that was exactly what they had been interrupting.

            Cora made a small noise and Shiro could hear her shift in place, most likely blocking the planner’s view of the bedroom. “Yeah,” she bluffed, “Definitely. You know, you should probably go on ahead. He’s uh… _kind of in a mood_ ,” she finished, whispering the last bit conspiratorially.

            Shiro suppressed a laugh, all too aware of how grumpy a hungover Keith tended to be. Even brainwashed he could only imagine his boyfriend would be griping for the better part of the day, especially if he was expected to do things. The Empire had seen nothing of Keith Kogane yet.

            “Well,” Maray returned delicately, “Be that as it may, I have a full day’s schedule here and I simply _must_ go over it with the prince myself. I will just,” the planner sighed, “Wait. Right here. _Patiently_ ,” they concluded, as though hinting heavily that patient was the last thing they were feeling.

            “Totally,” Cora agreed nonchalantly, “Laters.”

            She swung the door closed, already snickering to herself as she strode to the center of the room. “You can come out now,” she addressed, waiting until Shiro greeted her before the edge of the bed. They shared a look between one another and the prince, faces drawn in consternation.

            “So should you wake him or should I?” Cora prodded. Keith made a small, catlike trill in his sleep and rolled over.

            “I mean,” Shiro responded as neutrally as he could, “You’re his handmaiden, right?”

            Cora eyed him critically. “ _You’re_ his Champion.”

            “Right,” Shiro nodded, already backing away, “Which would make it really inappropriate. And, uhm,” he paused, trying to come up with a decent alibi. “I wouldn’t want to scare him?” he finished in more of a question.

            Cora groaned, rolling her eyes. “Alright,” she conceded, “ _Fine_.”

            Shiro breathed a sigh of relief, seeking refuge several feet away.

            Keith Kogane was not a morning person. He wasn’t really an anytime person, to be honest. He just really, really did not like to be woken up. He had busted more than one alarm clock in his day and had nearly obliterated a hailer trying to silence it. He tended to push and groan, tossing about while sleepily making death threats. Shiro had tried to kiss him awake one time only to nearly have his nose broken. The last thing Shiro wanted to do was aggress him, given his memory alteration and regal airs. Especially given that he would have a hellacious hangover when he came to.

            “Morning prince,” Cora called cautiously, apparently all too familiar with Keith’s antics. “Morrrniiing.”

            Keith made a small noise of protest, fumbling with his blankets.

            “Lo?” Cora insisted, and for a moment Shiro had to remind himself that it was the only name that the handmaiden had known.

            This time Keith grumbled, still delirious but begrudgingly conscious. “ _No_ ,” he groaned, pawing at a pillow threateningly.

            “You’ve got stuff to do today,” Cora informed him. “You’re the guest of honor.”

            “Don’t care,” Keith frowned, raising the pillow in warning.

            “Your dad’s gonna be there,” Cora sighed. Shiro bristled at the mention. “You _really_ don’t want to keep him waiting.”

            “Ugh,” Keith answered, letting the weapon fall and instead burying his head beneath it. “ _Fiiine_ ,” he surrendered, clearly accustomed to the interchange. Clutching his head, he climbed out from beneath the covers, still in his clothes from the night before and looking murderous. “I need some sunglasses,” he complained.

            “Sun… glasses?” Cora repeated, approaching the prince with far less caution and beginning to strip him of his old garments. “What’re those?”

            “They’re…” Keith paused, seemingly uncertain. “Glasses… that… suns,” he finished mysteriously, giving up on the matter and raising his arms so that Cora could slip his shirt over his head. Keith shook his hair into place, raking through it with his claws and suddenly taking notice of Shiro.

            “Ah,” the paladin froze.

            “What the hell are you doing here?” Keith frowned, unbothered as he stepped out of his pants. He kicked them aside and strode to his closet, forcing Shiro to accompany him in order to finish up the conversation.

            “You decided he was gonna be your pillow,” Cora filled in for him, fiddling with the closet’s control panel so that several racks alternated position. “Nice catch, by the way,” she teased with a wink.

            “Stop that,” Keith scowled, the faint outlines of his Altean markings shining blue. Shiro smiled despite himself, happy that some part of Keith still seemed drawn to him – even if it was in a nonromantic kind of way.

            “Would you like me to escort you today?” he offered, seeking an approving look from Cora. She shrugged in turn, apparently not at liberty to say if his suggestion was out of line or not.

            Keith paused, contemplative, before slowly nodding his head. “Sure,” he consented, wiggling into his armored flight suit and letting it fasten around his body. “I don’t see why not. You fed me a lot of shots last night so I guess you’re alright.”

            “I… did?” Shiro murmured, vaguely horrified.

            “Oh yeah,” Cora grinned, settling a diadem of thin silver chains and garnets atop Keith’s head before searching for the rest of his clothes. “I was there, I saw.” Keith huffed, rearranging a string of gems and black pearls out of the way of his ears.

            “Why…?” Shiro pressed, frowning in surprise when he found where he had kicked off his boots the night prior. At some point his maroon officer’s uniform had been exchanged for a clean one, devoid of tears and blood.

            “People kept buying you drinks,” Cora explained. “And that match was _amazing_ so everyone was really jazzed. But see it’s rude to turn them down, right? So you just gave them to Lo here so that he could ‘share in the celebration of your victory’ or something like that. You really don’t remember?”

            “I think I was on a lot of drugs at the time,” Shiro responded truthfully. He could still feel the Quintessence working through his system, slowly repairing his wounds with impossible speed.

            “Fair enough,” Cora shrugged, examining her work. A close fitting jacket had been pulled over Keith’s clothing, scarlet red with tight sleeves, a row of silver buttons extending along his forearms. Tailored snugly around the chest, it flared at the waist, flowing skirt-like to his knees.

            “Well?” she prompted, looking meaningfully to Shiro. He stammered, knowing there was only one correct response.

            “Very suiting,” he praised, biting back the litany of compliments he felt compelled to convey. He had always found Keith to be absolutely stunning, no matter the context. He was just as breathtaking to Shiro bedheaded in the ambient glow of their room on the castle ship as he was covered in sweat, a look of determination settled across his features as he prepared to battle. Or… well, Shiro could think of several more intimate times when Keith’s beauty had struck him.

            It drove Shiro mad to see Keith there, only a few feet away, his consciousness caged inside of a false persona. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to caress his cheek and cradle him close to his chest, lay a comforting kiss to the crown of his head. He wanted to tell him how perfectly androgynous he looked, how much Keith made his heart flutter. It was the little things, but it steeled his resolve.

_‘I’ll tell you,’_ he vowed, watching as Keith was led away to finish his preparations. _‘If nothing else, you deserve to know that you are loved. I won’t stop until you’re yourself again, until I know that you are safe.’_

            Awash with emotion, he made for the door, stepping into the hallway outside and completely forgetting the fact that Maray was still there. They stared at each other in startled disbelief, Shiro tugging at the front of his uniform uselessly while the planner stared pointedly at their tablet.

            “Morning?” Shiro offered.

            “Morning,” Maray returned shortly.

            They stood silently a moment longer, still not meeting one another’s gaze. Shiro took the chance to subtly examine his companion, who appeared about as stressed as they sounded. Their fur had been clearly pat down into place numerous times, still managing to look woefully bedraggled despite the harried attempts. Dark plum circles sagged beneath the other’s eyes, which flit energetically to and fro as Maray worked. Shiro wondered just how much caffeine they’d consumed lately.

            “So,” the Galra began, tapping at their screen rapidly. “Busy day for the prince today. Will you be accompanying him?”

            “I will,” Shiro confirmed, relieved for a safe topic. “What events will there be?”

            “First and foremost,” Maray smiled manically, “He is to attend a play with his father, His Imperial Highness Emperor Zarkon.”

            “A play?” Shiro repeated, feeling a spark of happiness for the first time in far too long. He had never seen a Galra play before, but he imagined they couldn’t be terribly different from the ones he had known on Earth. Theatre had always been a hidden passion of his, even if Keith had used to rib him for it.

            “Yes,” Maray returned, peering down at their screen and flicking through it. “‘The Slutting of Havaxi’, it would seem.”

            Shiro choked.

            “Oh,” he answered, voice strained. “That sounds… nice.”

            Right as Maray made to regale him on the rich history of Galra theatre and its playwrights the door to Keith’s chambers opened, admitting the prince and his handmaiden into the hallway. The dour look Keith had been sporting only minutes ago had vanished, replaced with an unaffected if regal mien. He regarded Maray and Shiro briefly, offering a small resigned sigh as the planner set on him, carefully laying out the full day’s schedule that Shiro knew Keith wasn’t even paying the slightest bit of attention to. Once finished, the group set off, Maray taking the lead as Shiro and Cora flanked Keith from behind.

            “You’re coming with us?” Shiro asked her in undertones as they made their way from the private residence of the palace and into the City Station.

            “Of course,” Cora shrugged. “As his handmaiden I’m supposed to attend to his every need. Can’t do that if I only stay in his chambers. Of course, I won’t be allowed in the box – I’m still a nobody. Not that I’d want to be there, next to the emperor and all.”

            Shiro shivered, growing alarmingly aware that he and Zarkon would be sharing close quarters rather soon. He hated the thought of using Keith as a buffer, but given the current state of affairs, he figured it was for the best. Keith, at least, would not be in the right frame of mind to find the entire situation uncomfortable beyond belief.

            He peered ahead beyond Maray, trying to make out the shape of the theatre over the outcropping of identical roofs. The buildings that made up City Station were simple and utilitarian, demarcated by number and corralled into neat blocks, leaving only the points of interest – Druid temples, shops, museums, libraries – to a façade of splendor. Although he couldn’t remember having ever visited the city proper, instinct had Shiro looking around for landmarks he knew would be there.

_‘The theatre is another three blocks ahead,’_ he calculated as the group cut through a pristinely manicured park. _‘And it seems like we’ve already drawn quite a crowd.’_

            The streets ahead were lined with eager civilians, each craning ahead to get a first look at the little procession. They were oddly quiet, contained in orderly rows despite the lack of a barrier. Keith seemed to falter before them, and Shiro realized that he’d been supplied no protocol of how to proceed. Taking apparent pity on him, Cora leaned forward, whispering just loud enough for Shiro to hear.

            “Wave,” she encouraged. “Show them you acknowledge them; let them know you care.” Keith nodded once curtly, taking her advice with a trepidation that only Shiro could recognize.

            “It’s not much,” Cora muttered as she returned to Shiro’s side, “But it’s more than Zarkon would do.”

            “Not the fondest of the Emperor?” Shiro returned quietly. Cora sized him up, lips pursed, before tossing her head slightly to the side. Shiro frowned, following her direction in confusion until he caught sight of the unmistakable metallic grey of a soldier’s armor. A chill settled over him as he began to pick them out one by one, each slightly ahead of the crowd, cordoning them off with their presence alone.

_‘They’re scared of the people meant to protect them,’_ he realized with horror. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that Zarkon’s rule had made monsters of men, but he couldn’t help but wonder just how quickly those in power would turn against the civilians.

            He bristled as they passed, disdaining the obvious fear that surrounded them. Their wordless gazes lingered, and quickly he realized that they weren’t reserved for Keith alone. “What are they all looking at?” he whispered to Cora, who cocked a brow.

            “Lo’s not the only one who’s made a name for himself,” she reminded him pointedly.

            Shiro frowned, uncomfortable. Human morals decreed that the acts he had committed were unpardonable. Certainly he had done everything in his power to survive, to fend for his own life, to get back to the person he loved most. His only options, after all, were to kill or be killed. The Galra certainly made no matter about it. Still, Shiro found himself wading in self-disgust, hardly able to reconcile his actions with his human sensibilities.

_‘How can they idolize the things that I’ve done?’_ Shiro fretted. _‘Why is being ‘the Champion’ worth so much to them? So honorable?’_ He looked into the crowd, immediately flinching away when he caught the eye of a kit who turned to their parent in excitement. _‘Please don’t look up to someone like me,’_ he inwardly begged. ‘ _I don’t want to be celebrated for being a murderer.’_

            Cora leaned over, mistaking his discomfiture for humble confusion.

            “You _are_ a big deal, you know,” she teased. “My dad’s a huge fan of yours; followed each match and everything.”

            Shiro forced a pained smile, not knowing what more to say. “Thank you,” he offered awkwardly as they pulled to a stop behind Keith and Maray. The theatre loomed above them, an eclectic mixture of concrete, marble, and glass, its steepled roofs piercing the fabricated sky. They passed through the arched doorways, emptying out into a grand foyer full of plush purple velvet and crystalline chandeliers. The Empire’s standard served as a centerpiece, draping regally between two sweeping staircases that lead to the auditorium itself. Maray directed them expertly, pulling them through a side door that led to the private boxes.

            “This is where I make my leave,” Cora announced, fidgeting slightly. Maray nodded her off and continued to lead. Keith followed at once but Shiro hesitated, perturbed by the sudden shift in the handmaiden’s behavior.

            “Cora?” he prompted, and she turned back to face him, features uneasy.

            “It’s a good play,” she returned abruptly. “A bit of a propaganda piece, but really well-written. The fight at the end is especially good. Should be exciting.”

            “Yeah,” Shiro murmured, watching her leave.

            “Vrepmyza?”

            Shiro turned sharply at Maray’s insistent tone, jogging back in place beside Keith. “Sorry,” he apologized quickly, looking to redirect the conversation. “There sure are a lot of people here,” he observed.

            “Well there ought to be,” Maray huffed, taking them up yet another flight of stairs. “It’s not every day that the Emperor attends a civilian event, not to mention the Crown Prince. I imagine the crowd is more here to see them than they are the actors.”

            “I don’t see what’s so exciting about it,” Keith grumbled, making the planner sigh indignantly in turn.

            “Well, best not to let your father hear it,” Maray advised, stopping before a door flanked by guards who saluted them in greeting. “And while it not be my place to say,” the organizer continued lowly, “It would be prudent to apologize for being late.”

            Keith nodded with a begrudging sigh, stepping into the box with Shiro trailing behind him. Shiro had to keep from gasping, the view before him more splendid than he could have imagined. They were situated to the side of the stage, a prime place from which to view the performance. Tiers of balconies jutted out above the mezzanine, beautifully dressed Galra taking up the orchestra seating. As Maray had anticipated, the theatregoers were turned towards the royal box, chattering at a dull roar. The entire auditorium was decadent, accented in gilded gold and beveled glass, creating the illusion that everything was sparkling. It all would have been much more enjoyable, however, if Zarkon wasn’t situated approximately five feet away from him.

            Shiro took a seat beside Keith, trying desperately not to stare. It was beyond unnerving to have the emperor so near and looking so… oddly relaxed. Shiro thought of him as many things: a dictator, an enemy, and perhaps above all, a complete bastard. He had seen him from the majesty of his many thrones and dais, from the command of the _Intrepid_ , his hateful image splayed out over the viewports of the castle ship. What he hadn’t seen was Zarkon in the everyday, lounging with a chin to a loosely balled fist, murmuring conversationally with Haggar like they were old friends. It was the most unsettling thing the emperor could possibly do.

_‘Please don’t even look at me,’_ he inwardly begged. _‘I do not want to have to talk to you.’_ Even if Zarkon was convinced that Keith really was his long lost son, he would have no such illusions about Shiro. It was plainly clear between the both of them that Shiro’s triumphs in the Coliseum amounted to little in Zarkon’s opinion, the fact that he was the black paladin and aligned with the last surviving Alteans far outweighing whatever honor he had gained. At the end of the day they were still bitter enemies hell bent on killing each other and no amount of forced pleasantries would change that.

            As if Zarkon could read his thoughts he turned, gaze locked with Shiro’s own, his lips curling into a near imperceptible smirk. Shiro matched him, resolved not to look away until the emperor did, feelings of revulsion crawling under his skin. Even without speaking, he knew what was being conveyed to him: no matter how much of a threat Shiro had once been to the Empire, he was now at its mercy.

            They didn’t have to confine him or shackle him: Zarkon knew that Shiro would never leave without Keith – would never do anything that might endanger him – and so long as Keith believed that he was Lotor, there was no risk of them trying to leave. Voltron – the only true threat that Zarkon faced – had been incapacitated, and by the paladin’s own hands, no less, and so long as Zarkon retained his grip on Keith, he had nothing to fear. Shiro boiled with hate.

            _‘I’ll see that smug expression wiped from your face yet,’_ he vowed as the theatre began to dim, the stage coming alight. _‘I’ll see that you never underestimate us again.’_

            Feeling sour, he listened as the play was announced, struggling to understand the fast-moving Galran. He jumped in surprise as Keith nudged him, and for a second he forgot where they were, the look on his boyfriend’s face so unguarded and kind. Keith silently motioned to his catlike ear, where a small device had been clipped, and then to a compartment built into the armrest. Shiro perked in understanding, fetching the small translator and slipping it into his own ear. Suddenly the words of the announcer came to him in simple English, the occasional phrase comically mishandled as if run through Google translate.

            As the play began Shiro grew more relaxed. Despite how complicated everything had become it was nice to at least be beside Keith. The news of his royal standing had been shocking to say the least, and whether or not it was true Shiro had been instantly fearful that they would be barred from interacting with one another. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but being with Keith was enough.

            Something was said and Keith laughed, a soft sort of huff that made Shiro’s heart squeeze. The Druids could tamper and experiment all they wished, but they couldn’t undo the basic traits that made up Keith’s personality; that much had been obvious. The fiery temper, the obstinate pouting, the strong willed determination; all of it was wonderfully familiar. But beneath it all was something more delicate, something tender, a sort of uncertainty and vulnerability that Keith kept hidden away so well and yet was always a part of him.

            Shiro had seen it slip out once or twice, when Keith had thought he wouldn’t notice. The lingering glance, full of softness and confusion, the sudden unbothered lilt of a smile, the expression he had just caught only moments ago wherein for a second he felt like they were back at the Garrison, curled up in his dorm and full of nervous adoration. His fingers itched to interlace with Keith’s own, to offer him affection and comfort all at once. In his right frame of mind Keith would have been keyed up and on edge, and even with the alteration of his memory Shiro highly doubted that the anxiety would ebb.

            Shiro turned his attentions back to the play, unable to keep from noticing how oddly Shakespearian it sounded. On stage were four actors: one representing a Galra commander, another a visiting representative (with a name that sounded dangerously phallic), a third dressed up as some sort of alien clown, and the forth – another non-Galra – hidden suspiciously from sight. The clown stood across from the two Galra, both of whom were situated at a table that the last had positioned himself under. Shiro pursed his lips, completely flabbergasted by the scene before him.

_‘I really should have known better from the title alone,’_ he chided himself, still not entirely believing what was being depicted.

            The commander – Devho – was deep in talks with his associate, the clown ever attentive to their conversation.

            “In this time of need, I fear for us sir; The d’Gal gain speed, they will win for sure,” the representative cried.

            “The Empire is strong,” Devho countered, “We can take the heat.”

            “Ah, but can you my lord?” the clown interjected slyly.

            “What was that?” the associate paused.

            “The clown speaks nonsense,” the commander said hastily, “Let us continue the discussion hence.”

            Beneath the table the final actor continued to pantomime in lewd gesticulation. The unaware party continued uncertainly.

            “As I have said my lord, we shall need tools.”

            “Tools?” Devho cleared his throat in alarm.

            “I assure you my lord is in possession of a fine sword,” the clown voiced cheekily, “But he has currently leant it out for tasting.”

            “What speak you, clown?” the representative balked.

            “For testing,” the clown answered smilingly. The commander looked hotly murderous while his friend continued on in confusion.

            “I was not aware swords were required to be tested on a regular basis,” he commented with wonder.

            “Ah yes,” the clown answered smoothly, “For efficiency. I assure you the procedure is long and hard.”

            Keith shifted towards Shiro with amusement, whispering out the side of his mouth, “Are they saying what I think they’re saying?”

            “Yes,” Shiro answered plainly, “This is a real life thing that is actually happening.”

            Keith pulled a smirk and settled back into his seat, ever so slightly still inclined towards Shiro. Beyond him Zarkon was sporting a similar expression, snickering into the palm of his hand. Whatever surreal feelings Shiro had been feeling prior dwindled in comparison at once.

_‘Oh my god,’_ Shiro realized with mortified amazement, _‘Zarkon is laughing at dick jokes. I can’t seriously believe that Zarkon, ruler of the entire Galra Empire, laughs at dick jokes.’_

            A sudden boom was heard faintly beyond the walls of the theatre and Shiro sat up attentively, eyeing the crowd for a source of disturbance. Keith, too, frowned in concentration, far less concerned than he’d usually be. Sensing nothing out of place, Shiro warily settled, noting that the guards outside their box hadn’t come in to check on them.

            “Separatists,” Zarkon mused disdainfully. “Meddlesome as always.”

_‘Separatists?’_ Shiro pondered in surprise. _‘So there are those other than us that openly oppose the Empire? If they’re able to get near the City Station without being destroyed then they must be fairly strong… or they’re from within the station itself.’_ He frowned, gnawing at a lip. _‘Does that mean there are Galra working to overthrow the government? If that’s the case, then Voltron may have more allies than we originally thought. However…’_ he considered, a slow sense of horror dawning on him.

            He turned to look at Keith, blissfully unaware as he watched the play. _‘So long as people believe that Keith is Lotor – that he’s Zarkon’s son and thereby heir to the Empire – then his life is at risk, even if we’re ultimately fighting for the same goal. Why wouldn’t the people who oppose the government see Keith as just as big of a risk to their freedoms? It would be the sensible thing to depose of any royal. I’ve got to restore him before that happens.’_

            Anxiously, Shiro settled back into his seat, trying to distract himself as much as he could with the play but finding it impossible. His mind was too full of what ifs and escape routes. Time dragged on without event and soon the play was to its climax. Many actors had assembled on stage, squared off against one another in glinting regalia. Devho was making a speech, his lover, Havaxi, standing adoringly at his side. Shiro’s skin began to prickle.

_‘This is it,’_ he recognized warily, _‘This is the fight that Cora mentioned. That she said would be excit –.’_

            His thoughts broke off midway, something reflective catching his eye from the darkness of the catwalk. The play’s war launched in full force and Shiro had just enough time to process what was happening before he threw himself towards Keith and knocked him to the ground.

            The rest proceeded quickly.

            There was a grunt of pain and then Keith was trying to push him off, the pair of them breathless and wide eyed on the floor of the box. “What the fuck are you –?” Keith began to accuse, but before the prince could finish his sentiment a string of explosive booms rocked the theatre. The crowd began to panic, sharp cries punctuating the auditorium as they began to race for cover.

            Shiro stared down at Keith, heartbeat so frenetic and loud in his ears that he could scarcely process anything else. “Are you alright?” he asked anxiously, receiving a startled nod in response. The door of the box burst open, the guards rushing in with weapons charged and aloft.

            “What –?” Keith tried again, only to be cut off by the hastened swishing of robes, and then Haggar was above them, chanting angrily in some arcane language, all but dripping in malevolent energy. Shiro pulled Keith away, still crouched below the cover of the balcony as the Druid fired off a barrage of magic. Something metallic screamed and snapped, falling way to the auditorium below. Keith winced at the resulting cries, ears pinned back in fright.

            “ _Go_ ,” a voice growled warningly. Shiro froze, finding Zarkon towering over them, face contorted in anger as he held a hand to a profusely bleeding shoulder. “Take Lotor somewhere safe,” the emperor ordered.

            For a moment Shiro felt a trace of doubt, a small unfurling of discomfort that whispered that his perceptions might be wrong. That Zarkon, in a moment of danger, could hold love enough for something to be protective.

            “Go,” Zarkon barked, just barely audible over the issuing of Haggar’s defensive magic. “Secure my progeny.”

            Shiro hissed in disgust, grabbing Keith by the hand and racing from the box. Beyond the hollow walls they could hear the continued screaming of the crowd, interspersed with laser fire and further explosions.

            “Are they bombing the theatre?” Keith asked, gripping tighter to Shiro as they ran.

            “I don’t know,” Shiro returned fretfully, busting open a door with his shoulder. He led them blindly through the building, hoping he was on the right path.

            “Where are you taking us?” Keith cried, sending restless looks over his shoulder. “They could be anywhere.”

            “I know,” Shiro answered grimly, letting go of his boyfriend’s hand just long enough to make it down a flight of stairs before seizing it once more. “But the front entrance is going to be blocked by all the theatregoers and if there’s a confrontation it will be in the front of the building. If anyone tries to come in here and attack, they’re also likely to do so from the front to try to trap us.”

            “What if we can’t get out?”

            “We will,” Shiro said with forced confidence. “A theatre always has more than one entrance, so we’re heading to the one in the back,” he explained, breathing in relief as he found the stage. “Come on,” he urged, slipping behind the heavy curtains and maneuvering the tangle of props, guns and shields dropped in a hurry amid the painted scenery. They ducked around the rigging, finding the dressing rooms and cluttered storage, tearing down the narrow hallway until at last they found what they were looking for.

            “Stay here,” Shiro ordered, grabbing Keith by the shoulders. “I’ll make sure it’s safe.” Leaving the prince with no other choice, he turned to the door and burst beyond it, prosthetic crackling to life as he swung about the small courtyard. He could hear the chaos from the other side of the building, the smell of energy discharge acrid in the air. Heart thrumming with adrenaline, he cleared the perimeter, finding a pathway to the main road ahead. He doubled back to the theatre, Keith upon him at once.

            “Well?” the prince asked uneasily, fingers wound in the hem of Shiro’s sleeve.

            “Come on,” Shiro repeated, pausing ever so briefly to brush his fingers along his boyfriend’s wrist. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promised, leading them through the small gate to the city beyond. “Do you have any weapons on you?” he asked, thinking immediately of Keith’s trademark dagger.

_‘No,’_ he realized with dismay, _‘There’s no way they’d let him keep that if it bore Thace’s crest – it would ruin the whole illusion.’_

            “I have my bayard,” Keith returned, making to retrieve it from the back of his flight suit. Shiro blinked in surprise, having never noticed the subtle holster for it fashioned into the back of the garment.

            “No use,” he analyzed at once. “If you fight with that you’ll be recognized immediately; we can’t afford that.”

            Another barrage of laser fire and Shiro lunged, pressing Keith down into a crouch with a hand and tucking him into the relative safety of an alley. He peered tensely from the mouth, finding the street they were traveling to run parallel to a plaza, from across which a dark and ornate building was erected, bedecked in strange glowing sigils and coiling spires. A woman in thick robes stood at the open door, frantically ushering in a slew of scared civilians.

_‘It’s a Druid temple,’_ he recognized quickly, _‘And they’re offering refuge.’_

            “Keith –”

            “ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS,” a loud voice echoed from across the city as a piercing wail began to sound. “THE CITY STATION IS UNDER ATTACK. GET TO SAFETY AND STAY IN YOUR HOMES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THE MILITARY HAS BEEN DEPLOYED. FAILURE TO FOLLOW PROCEDURE MAY RESULT IN CAPTURE OR DEATH,” the message decreed, looping as the siren continued to scream.

            Shiro grit his teeth, turning back to Keith to find he had already shed himself of his diadem and jacket. “What?” the prince shrugged fretfully. “Don’t want to be recognized, right?”

            “Right,” Shiro agreed, reaching for him. “Let’s go; I’ve found shelter.”

            Without hesitating, Keith immediately accepted Shiro’s hand, allowing himself to be brought to the steps of the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had SO much fun writing this chapter. Moosey and I decided that we wanted a scene at the theatre about halfway through our planning phase and I looked forward to seeing it actualized ever since. I was very thrilled to be the one to write it and hope that it made for a fun read.
> 
> Moosey wrote the lines for the play - most of which were in iambic pentameter, no less! - so all credit for that goes to her. She actually wrote a good deal more but for the sake of staying concise we had to omit them from the chapter. Hopefully that tickled the Shakespearean-inclined~
> 
> This chapter also introduced Maray, an original character that Moosey and I have utterly fallen in love with! They are so very frazzled and overworked, but caring all the same. Moosey and I had a fun time crafting their character, so with luck they were enjoyable to read!
> 
> See you next week!  
> <3 Ches


	7. Lockdown

**Satellite**

**Chapter Seven: Lockdown**

Takashi Shirogane x Keith Kogane

_Voltron: Legendary Defender_

                                                                                                 

            Shiro and Keith melded into the slew of terrified civilians, hands clasped tight as they followed the flood of people into the dark maw of the Druid Temple. Within, the floors and walls were tiled in black marble; thin, fluted columns reached up into the ceilings, which were inlaid with thousands of glittering gems in the forms of constellations. Shiro had barely enough time to appreciate the artistry before he and Keith were approached by a teenaged girl dressed in purple robes lined in gold. A circular white mask was secured to the side of her head, offset as to not frighten the civilians with the gaunt visage.

            “Please move into the back rooms, you’ll be safer there,” she informed them, gently ushering Keith along with a press to his shoulder. She immediately continued to relay the message to those behind them, guiding people forward.

            As fearful of the Druids as Shiro was, he was considerably shocked to see them acting so kindly towards the frightened masses. There was a disturbing offset between the behavior of Haggar and that of the young Druids currently helping them, and Shiro felt a pang of empathy towards them. Without anything to compare his experiences to, it had seemed like the Druids as a whole had no qualms with corrupting both their own kind and non-Galra like him.

            Keith took the lead, following the Druid’s instructions and pulling Shiro towards one of the massive doors flanking the altar. The room beyond was surprisingly spacious, the walls pocked with little nooks and coves draped in fabric and metallic charms. Dimly pulsing purple orbs floating several feet off of the ground were the only source of light, giving the room an eerie ambient glow. Wrapping his arm around Keith, Shiro urged his boyfriend towards one of the cubbies, settling down beside him on the plush blanket within.

            Despite the thick marble walls, the commotion from outside was still distantly audible, muffled shouts and explosions causing the Galra within the temple to huddle closer. At the sharp sound of a particularly close barrage of gunfire, Shiro immediately squeezed Keith near, his boyfriend still secured beneath his arm. The noise startled a frightened mew out of a kit milling in the center of the room, who dove into the cove beside them for cover. He curled his knees close to his chest, ears pressed flat to his head as he trembled.

            Shiro hummed concernedly, releasing his hold on Keith and reaching out to touch the child lightly on the shoulder. As he did, the young Galra jumped, the fur on his cheeks expanding in response to the startle. His fear didn’t seem to settle as soon as he spotted Shiro, eyes going wide as he attempted to inch out of the cubby.

            “Vrepmyza…” he whispered, tone simultaneously gripped by fear and awe. Shiro quickly withdrew his hand, feeling his heart break under the terror in the kit’s voice. In consideration to how the child from earlier that day had acted towards him, Shiro vastly preferred being feared to being idolized for what he’d done in the arena – but that didn’t stop his heart from breaking all the same when he was shirked away from.

            In his hurry to move away, the kit tipped over to the side with an audible “oof!” and Shiro winced, wishing more than anything that he could help him up without terrifying him. However, Keith was already reaching out for the child, scooping him up under the shoulders and setting him upright.

            “There you go,” Keith mused softly, smoothing down the child’s puffed fur with his palm. “Are you okay?”

            The kit looked anxiously between the pair before nodding hesitantly, ears pinned to his head once more. Keith extended an arm towards him, expression kind.

            “Do you want to sit with us?” he inquired, keeping his voice as comforting as possible. Hesitantly, the small Galra bobbed his head in a nod and drew close to Keith, keeping his eyes locked on Shiro the whole time. Keith immediately picked up on the anxiety, glancing over his shoulder at Shiro and returning to the kit with a smile.

            “He won’t hurt you,” the prince assured the child, wrapping an arm around him and tucking him close. “He’s kept me safe all day, and he’ll do the same for you. You’re safe here with us, okay?”

            The kit blinked at Shiro several times before ducking close to Keith with a little nod. The red paladin accepted him with a hug around the shoulder, leaning towards him and continuing to talk in a soft voice. Little by little, Shiro watched as the kit became more at ease, answering Keith’s distracting questions and returning his gentle smiles.

            Shiro could have melted watching Keith interact with the child. It was no secret that both of them adored kids, and even before they’d dated they had been fairly vocal on their desires to have families. Keith had spent his life shuffled around the foster system, so he’d simultaneously craved the love and stability that a family could provide and wanted to be able to share it with a child someday. Having had a handful of foster siblings and younger occupants of the boys’ homes he’d lived in to look out for, Keith had always been naturally inclined to comfort children and as a result was amazing with them.

            His boyfriend was no different. Shiro loved kids and found little else more rewarding than being able to interact with them. He was constantly floored by how quickly they learned and changed and the enthusiasm with which they took on life. Even before he’d been orphaned, he’d always wanted to have a family and the isolation he felt after his mothers’ deaths had only added to that desire.

            It had been a topic that he and Keith had been very communicative about once they’d started dating – they were both adults and looking for something specific in their relationship, and it meant the world to Shiro that they wanted the same thing. He could never put into words how happy it made him to know that Keith wanted to make a family with him someday. And although they would inevitably end up adopting, the possibility that they could also have a biological child together made Shiro’s heart flutter up into his throat.

            Above all else, watching Keith interact with the kit in that moment was only further confirmation that his boyfriend was still very much present within “Lotor”. Subconsciously, he reached out for Keith’s available hand, lacing their fingers together.

            His boyfriend looked over at him, mildly startled and Shiro nearly winced, withdrawing his hand with an awkward cough before glancing away. It was getting harder and harder to remember the current situation, especially in consideration to the fact that Keith’s personality was so minimally altered.

            Before either of them could speak, the Galra boy perked up, glancing across the room and shouting for his parents, who had just been ushered in by a Druid. A tall Galra fell to his knees, opening up his arms as his child flew into him, nuzzling desperately into the kit’s fur. His lusilbe enveloped both kit and spouse into his embrace as he sunk down alongside them, the family a quivering mess of relief. One of the men looked up towards Shiro and Keith, bowing his head in gratitude. Shiro returned the gesture, Keith raising a hand to acknowledge him.

            Shiro took in the scene with an odd feeling in his chest, glancing to the other occupants of the room. Druids were crouched in their cubbies alongside other Galra, offering kind touches and words. One had produced a miniature constellation in her palm, spinning the planets around much to the delight of a toddler bouncing on their parent’s knee. A couple situated opposite him and Keith were crowded around their hailer, laughing at a projected video of a gal’stara with tape stuck to its tails. The taller of the two spotted Shiro staring and expanded the size of the projection, gesturing for him to watch.

            “How’re you holding up over there?” they asked. Shiro noted that there was a greenish hue to their fur, little flowers in their hair blooming curiously as they addressed him – they were part O’Shetal.

            “We’re holding in there,” Shiro responded with a smile before skimming the room once more. He hadn’t noticed before, but many of the people there weren’t full Galra. The people, the families – they were just as varied as those back on Earth. Each was coping in their own way, their actions far less alien than Shiro ever recalled seeing.

            ‘ _Even under Zarkon’s rule, they’re just people_ ,’ he realized. In the past, Shiro hadn’t allowed himself to think that way, doing his best to compartmentalize whenever he rent a Galra cruiser to bits or took out a soldier. But with the evidence spilled out before him, it was impossible to deny that the majority of the empire was made up of normal people just trying their best to live their lives. And what was more, with Cora’s disdain for the soldiers and the presence of the separatists, many of these people didn’t even side with Zarkon in the first place.

            Before his thoughts could be stained with guilt, Shiro felt a hand on his bicep. He returned his attention to Keith, finding the red paladin peering at him curiously.

            “Is everything okay?” Shiro asked. Keith tilted his head, looking pensive.

            “Earlier, you called me something,” he replied. “Keith? What does that mean?”

            “It’s…” Shiro began, uncertain how to reply. With everything that had been happening, he hadn’t even been able to discern how much, exactly, Keith remembered and what had been scraped out by the Druids’ reconditioning. It only made sense that they’d completely erased his ability to identify as anyone other than Lotor, but the fact that he couldn’t even recognize his name _as_ a name was as unnerving as it was heartbreaking.

            Keith didn’t wait for him to respond. “I don’t remember you,” he admitted. “You’re the Black Paladin – that means we fought together, right?”

            Shiro nodded in affirmation, “We did.” More than anything, he wanted to let Keith know about the depth of their relationship – at the very least let him be aware that they were close, if not dating. He hoped that it would help to jog his memory in some way. But Shiro didn’t want to risk being overheard in such a public space, especially if he _did_ manage to revive Keith in that moment and cause a scene. He had no idea what reaction Keith would have when he came out of his fugue.

            Keith’s fingertips trailed down Shiro’s arm, skimming over the top of his hand. He narrowed his eyes softly, almost as if he was on the precipice of a memory – Shiro ached to reach out to him, to be able to take Keith’s hand up in his again. But the moment passed quickly, the prince folding his hands into his lap and staring up at the ceiling.

            “You must have been a good comrade, then,” he professed, and Shiro could see the Altean markings begin to dimly glow beneath his eyes. “Considering how well you protected me.”

            “I will _always_ protect you,” Shiro blurted before he could stop himself, setting a gentle hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Keith turned to him with wide eyes, the marks glowing a little brighter yet.

            His mouth settled into a cocky smile and he folded his arms over his knees, resting his chin there as he tilted his head towards Shiro. “I know you will,” he said, just a little smugly. “Del vrepmyza.”

            For a moment, Shiro was surprised to hear the Galran words from Keith, but once the shock wore down, something strange settled in his heart. He’d only ever felt a combination of guilt and confusion when he’d been addressed that way, but somehow it was vastly different when coming from Keith.

            _My champion._

* * *

            “ _There_ you are!”

            Shiro and Keith had barely exited the Druid temple when Maray charged them through the front courtyard, Cora trailing behind them. The pair looked like they’d seen better days – Cora’s face was smeared with something dark and Maray’s glasses were askew, the function that kept them connected to their face having broken on one side. The event coordinator approached them with a huff, immediately appraising Keith’s appearance with a look of disapproval.

            “Your majesty, _where_ is your diadem?” they inquired, reaching out to comb their fingers hastily through Keith’s mussed tresses. Keith made a sour face and pulled back, batting their hands away.

            “I got rid of it so I wouldn’t be an easy target,” the prince returned. Maray produced a chagrined huff, planting their hands on their hips.

            “I admit that’s a reasonable choice, but those black pearls are _not_ easy to come by,” they continued to fuss, reaching out to straighten the collar of Keith’s jumpsuit.

            “Here Maray,” Cora said, stepping between them and the prince and lightly making to pat imaginary dirt off of Keith’s flightsuit, clearly attempting to keep the frazzled Maray off of him. “I’m his attendant, let me attend him.”

            Maray raked a hand through the white tail trailing over their shoulder, nodding and holding up a tablet with a broken screen, “I will alert the Royal Guard to your location.”

            The black paladin turned away from the small group, scanning the street which had hitherto been crowded with excited civilians and decked with the royal colors of red and purple in celebration. Devastation ripped across the Entertainment District, tattered banners festooned over balconies and trampled into the ground – buildings were pockmarked with impacts from the blasters and small explosions, purple blood stained over streets and walls. Soldiers loitered around the area, blasters still held at the ready, their attention directed towards bodies beneath plastic tarps awaiting disposal.

            Heart pinching in a wave of anxiety, Shiro shifted his attention towards Cora, who was using the sleeve of her uniform to cuff the dark smudges off of her face. Clearly she’d been savvy to the separatist attack – and based on her attitude towards the guards earlier that day, she could very well have been one. However, her warning suggested that she didn’t wish to see Shiro or Keith harmed and he was immediately grateful. He shot her a small smile, which she returned with trepidation.

            “Glad we found you,” she told Shiro lowly. “I ran into Maray by the cinema and they seemed to be pretty dead-set on finding you,” she paused, her eyes locking with Shiro’s purposefully. “They seemed to know exactly where to go to find you.”

            Shiro furrowed his brow, again feeling as if Cora was indicating to him something that only she was privy to. He glanced over to Maray, who was anxiously chattering to the Galra soldier on his tablet screen, and then back to Keith – watching as the prince’s hand passed mindlessly over his upper arm, where a tracker had once been. It would make sense that the Druids would have tagged him again in the off chance that he managed to escape.

            ‘ _So not even the Druids are confident in their ability to keep him from leaving_ ,’ Shiro observed. ‘ _Which means that either they’re paranoid of the possibility of him being taken away, or that even they aren’t completely confident in the effectiveness of the reconditioning._ ’

            “Let us proceed through the fairgrounds to the bunker,” Maray interrupted his thoughts, tucking the broken tablet under their arm. “Thankfully, it is in the same ring of City Station, so it should not be a long trip.”

            “Ring?” Keith quipped as Maray led them down the main pathway, walking at a clipped, confident pace despite the destruction and corpses lining the streets.

            “There are several sectors of City Station,” Cora explained. “Each is a ring that orbits The Intrepid. This is the First Ring outside of The Intrepid, it’s where all the rich bastards live and party.”

            “ _Hardly_ , Miss Cora,” Maray scoffed. “The First Ring dedicates itself not only to the Royal Palace but also to the fine arts and places of celebration. In fact, it has quite a rich history! It was previously destroyed by an enemy of the empire—.”

            “First Ring’s connected to the Second Ring by the Coliseum,” Cora spoke over them as they passed under an ornate gate of black metal and into a massive stretch of empty space and lavish buildings. “The Second Ring is mostly residential area, and it’s connected to the Third Ring by the hangar.”

            “What’s in the Third Ring?” Keith inquired. Shiro responded in Cora’s stead.

            “Military,” he recalled easily. “Everything from training grounds to Research and Development.”

            “It’s also where the Druids do their experiments,” Cora filled in, a bitter expression on her face. It faded as soon as they rounded a corner, becoming a look of mild surprise. “The Ossuary?”

            The building they faced was easily the biggest in the fairgrounds, a massive structure of twisted black steel and dark stained glass. A pair of soldiers flanked the heavy metal doors, above which what appeared to be a coat of arms was pulsing with silvery light. As the quartet approached Shiro took pause, watching as hoary mist poured down from the crest, pooling before the soldiers in a vague silhouette. Cora and Maray immediately each fell to one knee, a fist pressed over their hearts. Shiro and Keith exchanged bewildered and shaken expressions, slowly mimicking the Galra’s actions. Robes poured out of the specter’s frame, rose gold eyes inspecting them mildly before it evanesced from sight.

            “What _was_ that?” Keith asked, sounding a little more than disturbed.

            “The Mother of Constellations has invoked the spirits of her predecessors to protect this place,” Maray explained, gesturing towards the shield as they approached. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, Shiro caught sight of the texture upon the crest, which became more pronounced as they drew nearer. It was made of gilt bones all inlaid intricately to form the details on the shield.

            As they crested the steps, the soldiers drew open the massive iron doors with no little amount of effort. Within, the building was dripping from ceiling to floor in silvery bones, a massive chandelier made with femurs and humeri descended from the center of the roof, hovering eerily over the ossuary, the black candles upon the skulls that capped it flickering with purple flame.  They were directed towards another set of metal doors inlaid in the wall opposite the entrance, which descended into the catacombs beneath the building via a spiral staircase.

            Endless specters in pearlescent shades materialized as they traveled passed the glass boxes that contained their remains, fading once they moved beyond them. Shiro felt his arm begin to pulse within the presence of the ghosts and he secured a hand over the wrist of the prosthetic, shaking slightly as one of the spirits drew near, trailing her long fingertips over the limb. Panting with anxiety, he forced his gaze forward, sucking his lip between his teeth. The looming panic attack dizzied him, and he nearly managed to trip into Keith, who paused on the steps and turned to him with a concerned expression. Cora promptly bumped into Shiro, knocking him forward into Keith and the pair caught one another hastily.

            “Sorry,” Shiro mumbled, giving Keith an apologetic, if shaky smile. The prince shook his head, steadying the black paladin’s shoulders with a kind look.

            “I’m a little freaked out, too,” he confided in Shiro lowly, glancing nervously over one shoulder at a looming ghost. He squeezed Shiro’s bicep comfortingly and continued to follow Maray, who had once again begun to anxiously ramble, not even having noticed the holdup behind them.

            Finally, they bottomed out into the lowermost level of the catacombs. A massive white spirit hovered before a wall of bones, tilting her head as Maray beckoned his three charges over. Suddenly, the specter lurched forward, blown towards Keith like a hush of smoke. Shiro immediately attempted to intercept, arm glowing to life with bright orchid energy – but the spirit blew through him, its form coiling around Keith as it cupped his cheeks in her hands.

            “ _Dan hosse meit patir o Serro,”_ it whispered to him in some ancient form of Galran. Keith stood stock-still, completely paralyzed by the intensity of its aureate gaze. “Dan _hosse delin zahtyr_.”

            “ _Mugenleb_!” a familiar voice cut through the chamber, echoing as if it came from all around. The spirit seized and recoiled from Keith, letting itself pass into the wall of bones – as it did, the bones shifted, curling themselves into an archway that led into a sterile hallway beyond.

            “Are you alright?” Shiro asked Keith, just barely hesitating to reach out to him. The prince nodded stiffly, although he still looked perturbed, body in a rigid line. Even Maray had fallen to uncharacteristic silence; both they and Cora had their ears pressed flush to their heads.

            “I’m fine,” Keith responded shakily, jerking his head towards the planner. “Do we go through here?”

            Maray shook themselves, readjusting their skewed glasses, only to have them swing back down across their face once more, “A-ah, yes! The bunker is straight through here.”

            Still disturbed, they began down the pristine hall, their hesitant steps speaking of the trepidation that they felt while advancing. The bones slid back into place behind them, the archway becoming a caged portal. Shiro felt his hackles raise, immediately disliking the trapped feeling. However, Maray quickly gathered themselves and walked past the entourage, pressing their palm to a sensor beside a set of doors that the hall terminated in.

            Within was a massive room which played host to a myriad of screens; it was decked in numerous computer terminals with a handful of Galra at their helm. In the center of the room stood Zarkon, his wound having disappeared beneath a fresh suit of armor. Haggar stood at his side, toying with a necklaced pouch as the form of the Druid ghost that had allowed them passage curled around her form.

            A screen projected Admiral Tzen before Zarkon, her white hair free of its queue and tumbling over her face. Her caracal ears were pinned back in rage as she reported to him.

            “The assassin has been identified as Ensign Vektor,” she was informing him. “He’s been sent to the Druids for interrogation – would you care for them to schedule him for a conversion, Your Imperial Highness?”

            “There is no need,” Zarkon responded. “Have them gather the intel they need and dispose of him as you see fit.”

            “The arena?” Tzen inquired, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

            Zarkon seemed pensive for a moment; Shiro watched him with disgust, knowing full well that the emperor was weighing the amusement that the would-be assassin could potentially provide.  Zarkon closed his eyes and shook his head.

            “No, schedule him for execution by hand,” Zarkon decided. “That will be all Admiral. Vrepit sa.”

            “Vrepit sa,” Tzen responded, saluting him. The screen disappeared along with Tzen and Maray cleared their throat, drawing a glance from Zarkon.

            “Your Imperial Majesty,” Maray announced importantly. “May I present to you Crown Prince Lotor and his Champion, Lance Corporal Shirogane.”

            Zarkon took a quick moment to look Keith up and down before directing his attention to one of the other screens around him, drawing up a hologram. Shiro felt another wave of revulsion roll through him.

            ‘ _You’re pretty nonchalant as long as your_ ‘progeny _is secured’, aren’t you?’_ he seethed, angling his body towards Keith protectively.

            “Nylan,” Zarkon was saying, not even bothering to look away from the projection before him. “See Prince Lotor and his entourage to the antechamber.”

            A soldier stepped forward and saluted the emperor, turning towards Keith and bowing deeply, gesturing them towards another clean hallway.

            “This way please, Your Highness,” she said, starting off at a brisk pace. Maray fell behind them quickly, sighing and propping themselves up against a wall.

            “Aren’t you coming?” Shiro asked over his shoulder. Maray shook their head, finally removing their broken glasses and scrubbing a hand over their face. Their ears drooped and in that moment they looked far less like a stuck-up planner and much more like a college senior running off of three hours of sleep with eight final papers due in the morning.

            “Oh no,” Maray sighed, bringing up their tablet and beginning to tap at it. “I need to either cancel or reschedule all the events for today – unfortunately I don’t believe I’ll be able to postpone Coliseum as it were…” they added with just the hint of a sympathetic glance towards Shiro. “It’s a fairly big to-do.”

            Shiro nodded in understanding, although he felt as if he’d been cheated once more. After the insanity of the day and the match that previous night, Shiro was absolutely exhausted. He’d give about anything to have even a one day reprieve.

            After saying farewell to Maray, Shiro caught up with Cora and Keith, who had been shown to a private room within the bunker and were loitering outside the door.

            “There you are,” Cora straightened up, ushering both Keith and Shiro into the space. “I don’t think peasantry is allowed in the _royal suite_ , so I _guess_ I’ll just have to leave you two be while I have a look around,” she added with an exaggerated wink. Keith snorted and Shiro raised an eyebrow. Cora returned his look by dipping her head cheekily and bouncing her eyebrows in turn, strutting farther down the hall with a casual wave.

            Shiro shut the door and turned back towards Keith, who seemed to be more interested in the interior of the suite. It was around the same size as Shiro’s flat with a large, round bed that mirrored the one in Keith’s apartment. A half-circle couch was wrapped around a screen projected into midair, which was displaying a pleasant screensaver of several pink, deer-like creatures grazing.

            Keith settled into the cushions before glancing at Shiro purposefully, nodding his head towards the space beside him. Shiro took it, heart fluttering almost nervously. It was a ridiculous reaction – seeing as Keith was his boyfriend and all – but there was something about their dynamic that made Shiro feel like he had a crush for a second time. He watched Keith out of the corner of his eye, judging how to proceed. Keith, for his part, seemed flustered as well, Cora’s insinuations having gotten the best of him.

            Shiro smiled. _‘I know he’s still Keith,’_ he acknowledged to himself. _‘But like this it’s like we’re falling in love all over again. Even not knowing who he truly is – not really even knowing me – his feelings remain the same.’_

            “I feel kind of bad,” Keith spoke up, drawing the other’s attention.

            “Bad?” Shiro echoed.

            “I mean,” the prince licked his lips thoughtfully, “We’re safe in here while there’s still trouble out there. There’re probably still civilians at risk. It just… it felt different at the Druid Temple. Does that make sense?”

            “Well,” Shiro hesitated, eyeing the suite. He wanted more than anything to be outright with Keith, to take advantage of their privacy and try to jog his memories. While he couldn’t see any cameras, it didn’t mean that they weren’t there and Shiro didn’t put it passed Zarkon in the slightest to try and keep tabs on even those he trusted enough to invite to the bunker. Keith was still staring up at him expectantly.

            “Well,” Shiro repeated, lowering his voice. “It’s because this is a whole different level of safety, right?” he interpreted. “Because the shelter of the temple was accessible to everyone while this…” he looked about with mixed relief and distaste, “This is privilege for a select few.”

            Keith nodded slowly, turning over the words. “It’s a matter of fairness,” he assessed. “And valuation. I know I’m the Crown Prince and thereby I need to be protected; my father is the same way, right?”

            Shiro winced, forcing himself to nod.

            “Right,” Keith assured himself, “If either of us were to fall then there would be chaos; it’s only natural that our security is tighter. Still…” he sighed, genuinely distressed. “I don’t feel as if my life is more important than anyone else’s. That kit we saw today? He could have ended up hurt, or his parents. They could still be in danger, and yet here I am,” he huffed, gesticulating at the room about them, “And… it just doesn’t feel right. I don’t really know how to explain it, and I don’t think my father would like to hear it, either,” he finished quietly, “I suppose it’s not the most princely thing to admit.”

            “I’d disagree,” Shiro returned warmly, inclining slightly towards his boyfriend. “I think it means that you’re kind, that you have empathy and care about the plights of others. It may not be how Zarkon chooses to rule, but I think it’s the marking of a good leader.”

            Keith turned to him, expression hopeful, “You think I’ll make a good emperor?”

            “I do,” Shiro promised, and a part of him realized just how tangible the proposition was becoming. “Although,” he added hastily, glancing about the room, “I wouldn’t say so around Zarkon.”

            Keith nodded in apparent understanding. “Is the match still on?” he asked after a pause. “I saw you talking with Maray before we were escorted here.”

            Shiro grimaced, fingers clenching and unclenching anxiously. “Unfortunately, yes,” he conceded. “Said it was too big of an event to postpone – they’re probably right about that.”

            “That’s not fair,” the prince cried at once. “You protected me from the attack today and the whole station is literally up in arms. How are you supposed to have the stamina left to fight? It’s been too eventful a day, I won’t have it.”

            Shiro puffed a laugh through his nose, instantly able to sense the protectiveness of his boyfriend’s tone. “As appreciated as it is,” he said regretfully, “I don’t think there’s much that can be done for it. It’s likely that this is the empire’s way of staying strong in the face of danger – at the very least, I don’t think Zarkon would go for such a suggestion.”

            Keith released a small hiss of annoyance, ears pinning back unhappily. “I don’t like it,” he protested.

            “I don’t either, to be honest,” Shiro confessed. “Besides, it might still be dangerous for everyone there. No matter what sort of political statement is trying to be made by still staging the match, there is always the chance that having so many people in one area will make them an easy target.”

            “I don’t like that, either,” Keith frowned, settling slightly.

            “Well at least you’ll be safe,” Shiro sighed gratefully. “I imagine you’ll be in here for the rest of the evening.”

            “What?” the prince recoiled, “No. No way. I’m going to the match.”

            “You can’t possibly be serious!?” Shiro proclaimed, half rising from his seat. “That’s way too risky. Even with the increased protection of the Royal Guard there’s still a chance that you could get hurt. The separatists may have failed in their assassination attempt at the theatre but that doesn’t mean that they’re defeated in any sense of the word. Please, don’t give them the ability to make good on their threats.”

            “I don’t care,” Keith argued, arms crossed before him, “It’s like I was saying earlier: if my people are in danger then it’s only fair I take an equal risk.”

            “But –,” Shiro returned desperately, verbally trapped by the nature of the prince’s fugue.

 _‘But you’re my boyfriend and I love you,’_ he wanted to say. _‘And even if you can protect yourself, I want you to be safe.’_

            “You really shouldn’t be taking any unnecessary risks,” Shiro warned. “The risk of another att–.”

            “I appreciate your concern,” Keith cut across hotly, “But who are you to dictate what I can do? I’m going to the match tonight,” he settled.

            “I’m sorry,” Shiro relented at once. “I didn’t mean to… overstep my bounds.”

            “It’s fine,” Keith brushed him off.

            “No, it’s not,” Shiro frowned, awash with frustration. “Regardless of who you are it’s still not my place to make decisions for you. You have autonomy and I need to better respect that. I’m just… worried.”

            Keith turned back to him, softening slightly. “ _You’re_ the one you should be worried about,” he countered, hand hovering over Shiro’s own. Thinking the better of it, he pulled away, fingers toying together in his lap. “You’ll win, of course,” he added determinedly. “But… if anything happens then I want to be there to see it.”

            Shiro paused, touched by the gentleness in his boyfriend’s tone. “Thank you,” was all he could say. He knew he couldn’t very well bar Keith from doing as he pleased, all the more so due to his apparent title and status, so the most he could settle for was concerned acceptance. “Still,” he couldn’t help but voice, “Please don’t think that my match is worth more than your life; it still is a huge risk.”

            “I hear you,” Keith returned flatly. “But I’ve only spent a whole lifetime taking care of myself, you know.”

            “What?” Shiro blinked, suddenly breathless. The prince faltered, frowning at his own words, ears cocking in confusion.

            “I…” he hesitated, “I don’t know. That was a really weird thing to say, wasn’t it? I don’t know why I said it.”

            Shiro grinned, trying to contain his excitement. _‘That’s something that the Keith I know would say,’_ he thought. _‘Self-reliant to a fault; a prince would never make a statement like that.’_

Keith was looking to him, as if searching for validation.

            “Do you remember an old shack?” Shiro asked, startling his companion.

            “What?”

            “An old shack, out in the middle of the desert?” Shiro pressed. “There was a wooden rocking chair out front and a shed to one side. A cruiser, too. I think it was red.”

            “That’s my favorite color,” Keith mumbled, frowning in concentration.

            _‘Is it working?’_ Shiro watched hopefully.

            But Keith shrugged, frowning. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”

            _‘Damn,’_ Shiro exhaled, thinking quickly. _‘Maybe that was too recent, or maybe it wasn’t important enough. I can’t very well tell him about our relationship, at least not right off the bat. The way he is now I’m afraid he’d immediately reject it or deny it, and then I may lose my chance of being near to him.’_

He bit his lip, searching out a safe subject. _‘Maybe if I can just jog his memory a little it will help to put him on the right path. With Zarkon so nearby it might be dangerous to try and break him from his fugue entirely; wouldn’t want to risk causing a scene, especially not one that might be recorded. Besides,’_ he considered, _‘It could always be that his memories of me were more damaged than his memories of others.’_

He could vaguely remember himself trying to talk to Keith after the terminus of the first match. The celebrations had been in full swing and Keith was successfully sloshed, somehow managing to retain a sense of dignity despite his inebriation. Cora had made the executive decision to stop him while he was still ahead, leading them both to the basement level of Zarkon’s manor where Keith’s quarters were contained.

            Shiro had followed after the prince into his bedroom, hoping his litany of questions would be more easily answered without Keith’s more guarded persona. It had gotten him nowhere, however, with the prince tipping onto his mattress and pulling him into bed with a giggle. Although startled, Shiro had welcomed the sudden affections and Keith had curled up on his chest and promptly passed out with absolutely no progress having been made.

“That shack?” Keith spoke up, breaking his thoughts. “Was it somewhere important? I think… I think I remember talking to someone there, someone important.”

            Shiro’s heart thrummed, knowing full well that his boyfriend was remembering their reunion after he had crash landed back on Earth.

            “I’m not really sure where that was,” Keith continued, brows knit in concentration. “Some other planet, I think. A dusty one. Was that when we were comrades?”

            Shiro quirked a brow in surprise, not expecting such an easy in. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Everyone there was a paladin, or,” he reconsidered, “About to be named one. There were five of us, including you and me.”

            “Why don’t I remember?” Keith murmured, rubbing a hand across his brow. The motion moved his hair to the side and Shiro could just make out the fading circular bruise against his temple. He grit his teeth against the memory of the electroshock machine, instantly flooded with anger knowing that Keith had been subjected to as much.

            “We were all friends,” Shiro pressed, neatly ignoring Keith’s quandary. “You, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and I.”

            “Pidge?” the prince perked up suddenly, ears tilting forward. “That’s…” he thought carefully, going through whatever vague memories he possessed, “That’s the smart one, right?”

            “Yes,” Shiro laughed, thinking how indignant the others would be to be unincluded from such a descriptor – Lance, especially. “She’s the green paladin. You guys… you were close,” he offered cautiously.

            “We were?” Keith mused, uncertain. “Why? What’s she like?”

            “She’s a human,” Shiro began, pressing a hand to his chest, “Like me. Much shorter though, with brown hair and glasses. Incredibly clever; she has a real skill for anything technological: she can hack just about anything, even highly advanced alien programming, and either download the information or turn it in our favor. She’s taken back an entire ship before, even under hostile command. She also –.”

            “But what is she _like_?” Keith interrupted, expression earnest.

            Shiro paused, taken aback by the sincerity of the question. He smiled, reclining against the back of the couch, thinking back to the disparate identities he had known: that of Katie Holt and that of Pidge Gunderson.

            “Pidge…” he began thoughtfully, “Pidge is a very private person. She’s friendly but takes a while to warm up to people all the same. She likes having her space but is a really loyal friend once she begins to trust you. She’s funny, really has a mouth on her. I think that’s why the two of you got along so well. I mean, you had a bit of a rocky start,” he admitted with a laugh, “But after that you began to bond pretty quickly. You have a similar sense of humor, very sarcastic.”

            “Were we still friends when I left?” Keith queried, expression creased with worry.

            “Of course,” Shiro nodded, “Pidge is always going to be –.”

            A soft knock at the door interrupted him, Cora peeking her head in a moment later. “Sorry to intrude,” she offered, sounding genuinely apologetic.

            “Is anything wrong?” Shiro asked at once, defenses rising.

            “No,” Cora assuaged, guilty expression unwavering, “It’s time to go, though.”

            Shiro swallowed hard, nodding his understanding. The Coliseum awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the late update tonight -- Ches and I have been hard at work completing the rest of Satellite. And I'm very proud to announce that Ches is literally words away from finishing the story as I type this. We're both so, so proud of and happy with how the story turned out! We can't wait to share it all with you. We hope you all love reading it as much as we loved writing it.
> 
> What did you think of this chapter? Finally Keith and Shiro have a moment to themselves, hooray! But Shiro is going back for his second match, not hooray!
> 
> Also, just a note: we are waiting to watch season two until we're finished writing Satellite as a treat to ourselves for finishing. So please don't spoil us with your comments! Much love!!
> 
> ~Moosey


	8. Betrayal

            “Thace?”

            The addressed Galra jumped in place, shaken from his thoughts. His eyes had been affixed to the screen projected in the center of the meeting room, where he and the other commissioned officers had been gathered moments before. The newscast was still displaying images of the First Ring’s Entertainment District from a distance, prentma having descended upon the destruction in an effort to repair it for that night’s festivities. One of the commanders loitered in the doorway, long limbs folded over his chest as he studied Thace with a critical eye.

            “You okay there, buddy?” he quipped casually, tilting his head to the side. “You were completely checked out during that meeting.”

            “Please forgive me Commander Sagarian nan Throk,” Thace responded, standing and saluting to the other soldier. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

            The captain banished the apology with a wave of his spindly fingers, “It’s Annis. We’re off work, keep your pleasantries to yourself.” He glanced pointedly at the chair beside Thace’s, lips drawing into a line before adding to Thace lowly: “If you want the truth, I think we’re all pretty shaken up about Vektor.”

            Thace glanced at the seat that had once belonged to the turncoat ensign, feeling his chest pinch in empathy. Vektor was a good man – a friend of Thace’s both inside and out of the alliance of the separatists. What was more, he had a young kit at home, and no ilbe to care for her. Even though his assassination attempt on Zarkon had been far too risky for Vektor himself and the separatists at large, Thace’s heart had immediately went out to Vektor upon hearing the news.

            Annis approached Thace around the table, setting a hand on his shoulder, “You should come over tonight and watch the match, Lusox’s making guamnop-stuffed hearts.”

            “As much as I enjoy Commander Lusox’s cooking, I’m afraid I have prior engagements,” Thace smiled, allowing Annis to guide him out of the meeting room with a friendly arm around his shoulder. Annis grinned toothily.

            “Finally got yourself a lusvront or something?” he asked, drawing short at a vending machine. “Want anything?”

            “No thank you,” Thace responded. “And hardly; I’ve been put in charge of the Prince’s lesson plans, and I need to start applying my focus on the curriculum.”

            “That’s shit— _goddammit_ ,” Annis grunted, banging the front of the machine with the back of a fist before falling to the floor and sneaking his long limb inside of it. Thace sighed at the marvels of the Galra military’s finest.

            Annis glanced back at him, ears pinned back in annoyance at his predicament, scowling at Thace, “Yeah, whatever. You go home and rest up, Lieutenant. Vrepit sa.”

            “You as well, Commander. Vrepit sa,” Thace bid farewell to Annis, leaving him to the mercy of the vending machine.

            Thace wasted no time leaving Central Command, heading for the hangar where the Third and Second rings connected. Around him the anxiety was palpable, the other soldiers heading home for the day shuffling irritably as they boarded the shuttle home. Thace was hardly faring any better, still impossibly keyed up by the day’s events. As soon as he’d heard of the assassination attempt on the royal family, his whole world had frozen in place – even the slightest hint of Keith coming to danger absolutely agonized him. He’d spent the entirety of the afternoon struggling to fight down the overwhelming terror before he learned of his son’s safety from Admiral Tzen.

            But even though it pained him, he couldn’t blame the separatists for their actions – none of them knew of Keith’s situation, and if Thace was out of the loop, he would have done the same. From their point of view, Keith was an ideal target – a young, naïve aristocrat with minimal fighting experience that could easily be used to drag Zarkon down.

            ‘ _I’m going to have to get back in contact with the separatists if we want to avoid something like that happening again_ ,’ Thace reasoned. Unfortunately, Vektor had always been his in, and his second contact Sylvux had been away from City Station for some time – it’d be too risky to use the empire’s technology to contact him with the chance of their correspondences being intercepted.

            ‘Speaking _of correspondences_ ,’ he thought, disembarking from the shuttle and stepping into the residential block. ‘ _It’s about time I make good on my promise to the rest of the team_.’

            Thace quickly made for his apartment, swiping his cardkey to allow himself access. Inside, it was just as orderly and cozy as he had left it before leaving to join Team Voltron. Toeing off his boots in the entryway, Thace touched a panel on the wall, calling up a screen and activating the apartment’s settings. Instantly the room was awash in soft light, the kitchen humming to life as it began to prepare a hot drink. Thace’s eyes fell to the screen in the living room, heart catching in his throat for a moment before settling into thick disgust in the pit of his ribs.

            The broadcast displayed a video of Keith, walking through the remains of the Entertainment District alongside Zarkon. Thace shook his head upon seeing the lavish regalia that Keith sported – different from that morning’s wear – the pearls dripping from his hairline like some sick trussed-up doll. Thace had hardly finished reeling from the outfit that Keith had been forced to wear for court; the pain at seeing his son in the borrowed clothes had been hard to work through. Thace couldn’t help but feel like it was a simultaneous taunt at himself and a warning for the grotesque fate that would belie his son if it was revealed that he was not, in fact, Zarkon’s blood heir.

            Thace immediately turned off the broadcast, abandoning the living room for the bathroom, where he groped around the medicine cabinet for a moment before setting aside a small, silver case. Wiping his forearm down with a cold antiseptic swap, Thace flicked open the case and extracted a thin needle of Quintessence. He went through the motions blindly as he had every day for twenty thousand seasons, injecting himself with the modest dosage and discarding the needle in a sharps container. The usage had become a necessary evil if he wanted to stay alive long enough to search for Serro and Keith – he used just enough to keep himself from aging, but had long ago found himself dependent on the substance. Even now it was taking off the edge of his exhaustion.

            He left the bathroom, extracting his hailer from his pocket and setting it down on the table in front of his couch. Toggling the controls, a small screen was projected above the hailer, showing signs of the transmission attempting to connect. A face beaming with equal amounts of worry and happiness took up the majority of the screen moments later and Thace couldn’t help but smile in response.

            “Thace, Thace the man from outer space!” Lance chanted on the other line, leaning back to collapse onto Hunk, who was curled up on the couch beside him. “How’s espionage treating ya, my guy?”

            “Man, what _is_ it with you and rhyming lately?” the yellow paladin inquired, raising a hand to greet their ally. “Yo!”

            “Hello Lance, Hunk,” Thace greeted the pair, trying his best to muster up a smile that was not nervous.

            “Man, you just about gave me a heart attack the other day when you cut off that call,” Lance admitted, flashing an anxious little smile of his own. “What was that all about?”

            “…about that,” Thace said after a small pause.

            The next several minutes were spent relaying the events of the past few days, Hunk and Lance’s expressions growing in shock and horror. The blue paladin shook his head in disbelief, eyes saucer-wide.

            “Dude, that _can’t_ be right,” Lance laughed incredulously. “Keith’s _a prince_? I mean like I know Keith was _a_ prince through you, but _the prince_? Zarkon’s _kid_?”

            “I’m having so much trouble picturing that right now,” Hunk frowned. “I mean for one, Zarkon isn’t exactly dad material, and for two wouldn’t Keith look all scaly and stuff?”

            “It’s complicated,” Thace admitted warily. “I’m sorry for having to lie to you – the easiest way to get close to Zarkon was Keith playing the role of prince, and this entire plan depended on Keith staying ignorant of that fact if we wanted things to stay convincing. Your princess knew the full truth, but…” Thace made an apologetic shrug.

            “But wait, hold on – how could you not know who Keith’s dad was?” Lance interjected, completely confused. The question bit into Thace and he glanced away sharply, claws pricking the arm of the couch as his hand subconsciously tightened into a fist.

            There was the soft sound of Hunk smacking Lance upside the head. “ _Lance_ ,” the yellow paladin hissed between gritted teeth.

            “It’s fine,” Thace sighed, carding a hand between his ears and taking a deep breath. “Keith’s mother was…”

            Thace hesitated, looking at the curious faces peering back at him through the screen of the hailer. He looked at the expectation in Lance’s eyes, the painfully similar blue biting into his heart.

            “She was Zarkon’s courtesan,” Thace settled on. “We were secretly in a relationship and due to the nature of the situation…”

            He trailed off pointedly, watching sadly as realization dawned over the paladins’ faces.

            “Oh man…” Hunk said softly, looking absolutely heartbroken.

            “I’m so sorry Thace, I had no idea,” Lance shook his head. “But what if Keith’s—?”

            “His blood doesn’t matter to me, he is my son no matter what,” Thace reiterated, harkening back to his conversation with Shiro.

            “But if Keith _is_ Zarkon’s son,” Hunk began thoughtfully, eyes growing huge in dawning realization. “Does that mean if Zarkon dies, then _Keith_ becomes the emperor?!”

            “Oh _hell_ no, I’m not letting him show me up like _that_!” Lance balked.

            Thace felt his face contort in chagrined sheepishness. “Well, ah,” he began. “That _would_ be the ideal situation, yes. However, I’d imagine the Vesh would want to install some sort of parliament after his ascension and he’d become more of a ceremonial head.”

            “The what now?” Hunk blinked.

            “Ah – the Vesh, it means ‘home’ in Galran. It’s short for the d’Zahtvesh Fighters – d’Zahtvesh means ‘not of the empire’,” Thace explained. “They’re the separatists who oppose Zarkon’s rule – the ones who attempted the assassination today; I was aligned with them prior to joining your team. Once I manage to find a correspondent, I’m certain that they’ll be quick to join with us both in cause and in helping to pull off the assassination.”

            “But I’m guessing that all depends on Shiro giving Keith true love’s kiss, right?” Lance quirked a brow. Thace frowned.

            “I’m not sure I follow.”

            “He _means_ that everything hinges on Keith’s memories being restored,” Hunk filled in helpfully.

            “I mean… no offense Thace but _man_! This whole thing’s a dang mess!” Lance raked his hands through his hair, looking ready to pull it out in clumps. “I wish we could do something from here.”

            “I believe there’s work for you yet,” Thace mused, standing and collecting a small tablet off of a bookcase. “Has Allura ever made mention of the Vol Alliance to you?”

            “Vol?” Hunk quipped. Thace brought up a holographic projection on the tablet displaying a solar system in miniature.

            “This is the Vol system, the same star system that houses Altea and Gal,” he presented the map for them, gesturing towards the indicated planets. “Some time ago it was the location of a war against the De’elsians, whose empire was bent on conquering the system. Five of the other planets in the system – Altea, Qurm, Gal, Stell, and O’Shetal – formed an alliance, which hitherto became known as the Vol Alliance,” Thace banished the map and set the tablet aside. “It was from the combined efforts of those planets that a weapon was formed in order to defend the system against the De’elsis,” he smiled purposefully at the pair. “I think you can take a guess as to what that weapon was.”

            “The Vol System,” Lance repeated softly, moon-eyed. “Vol- _tron_.”

            “Since they were conquered at the conception of the Galra empire, Stell and O’Shetal remain relatively sovereign in their respective spheres,” Thace explained. “Unfortunately for us, both Qurm and Altea fell some time ago – but I reason that Stell and O’Shetal may be receptive to rejoining the alliance alongside Team Voltron. If you wanted to confer with them, it should be much easier for you to enter the Vol system now that City Station has left for the season – but I’d suggest that you hurry, since it’s traveling back towards Vol and is expected to arrive in the system at the end of the myokokak.”

            “That’s the ten-day week, right?” Hunk confirmed, Lance looking absolutely lost.

            “I believe that’s how Shiro equated it,” Thace responded with a nod.

            “Alright: hit up Stell and O’Shetal,” Lance confirmed, raising a thumbs-up. “Anything else we can do?”

            “Unfortunately not,” the Galra shook his head, clasping a hand between his knees. The three lapsed into silence, Lance finally speaking up softly, his voice finely lined with guilt.

            “How’s Shiro?”

            Thace winced, “Unfortunately I haven’t been able to talk to him since the first time you contacted me. He seemed… very shaken after the first fight.”

            Lance hissed, shaking his head, “I felt like something like this was going to happen. But I… I had to help him, Thace.”

            “It’s a good thing you did, kit,” Thace offered kindly. “Without him here I’m not certain if I’d be able to shake Keith of the reconditioning – his bond with Keith is _far_ stronger than mine.”

            “They really love each other, huh?” Hunk grinned.

            “Why’d you _think_ I helped Shiro?” Lance mumbled.

            Thace smiled warmly, signing off with the two paladins and promising to continue correspondence. Disconnecting his hailer, the Galra leaned back into his couch, propping his forehead up in a palm before sitting upright in realization, frowning.

            “ _My_ _tea_.”

* * *

            Shiro paced about, shaking the nervous energy out of his limbs. He could hear the roar of the crowd beyond the room’s tall metal door, their cries only serving to further agitate him. The last battle had been tough, far tougher than he’d anticipated. Clearly the Galra were used to seeing him battle at a certain level of proficiency: one he wasn’t sure he still possessed. Still, his body had moved with practiced ease, almost independent of his thoughts. He wasn’t convinced that it would be enough to save him a second time.

            “Stop that,” one of the soldiers guarding him growled, elbowed at once by his compatriot. Shiro stopped in his pacing, sending them both sour looks before finding a bench to sit upon. His mind was racing, filled with tumbling, disparate thoughts.

            _‘I have to win this battle,’_ he coached himself. _‘I have to be there for Keith. I can’t leave Thace to deal with this alone. I can’t let Team Voltron down. I’ve got to settle this.’_

He took a steadying breath, trying to prevent his thought spiral. _‘I need to strategize, that’s the first thing. As soon as I get in the arena I’ve got to take in my surroundings and assess my opponent. Knowing the Chief Orchestraters, this enemy will be stronger than the last. They’ve had plenty of time to study my weaknesses to create an exciting show for their audience: clever of them to realize that my biggest fear was myself.’_

Shiro soothed, stretching slowly in place, a course of action in mind. History had shown that he was capable of taking on whatever the Chief Orchestraters threw at him; while his victory was never guaranteed, it was likely, and the sooner he could end the fight the better off his chances would be.

            _‘Keith is the bigger concern,’_ Shiro asserted. _‘I can’t believe he’s still coming to this match after what happened at the theatre today. He’s always been hardheaded, but…’_ Shiro sighed in defeat, _‘I wish he would listen to me, just this once. It’s just not worth risking his life.’_

            He’d had the conversation before, back on Hydrus and during their return to the Castle of Lions. The fact of the matter was that both he and Keith were equally protective of one another, even at the cost of their own wellbeing. Having been separated even once had taken huge tolls on their psyche, an overwhelming amount of anxiety produced at the thought of not being around to protect the other.

            _‘Even without his memories, I guess it’s the same,’_ Shiro mused fondly. _‘He decided he would come to make sure I was alright, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. That’s so Keith. Besides,’_ he figured, _‘Maybe he_ would _be at liberty to protect me.’_

            The thought offered him some comfort.

            Beyond the small room a booming voice could be heard, loud but indistinct. Shiro looked up to his guards, who nodded in confirmation. Rising slowly he made for the door, waiting as it yawned open to grant him passage.

            Shiro bowed his head, trying to shield his eyes from the brilliant white lights of the stadium, temporarily blinded as he tried to get his bearings. It was strange that the Chief Orchestraters had withheld him until after the formal announcements, the clock above already beginning to count down. As it reached zero and the match began, Shiro’s vision cleared and he could suddenly see why.

            A human male stood across the field from him, uncomfortably slender, arms visibly bony, even from a distance. The clothes he wore – those of a slave – hung from his body, his face overshadowed with shaggy brown hair. One of his hands was fisted around a hooked blade, holding the weapon aloft before himself defensively. He locked eyes with Shiro and started with surprise.

            “Matt?” Shiro spoke tremulously, reaching out. He took a step forward, disbelieving. Already he could feel the hot prickle of tears encroaching his lash line. He scrubbed a palm across them, footfalls heavy as he cut through the tall dry grass that occupied the arena. The plants crushed underfoot, the stiff brushes of their heads scratching at his skin as he pawed through them, practically unnoticed for the sake of getting to Matt. They met halfway and Shiro paused, almost afraid to touch his friend for how fragile he looked.

            “Hey Shiro,” Matt greeted, collapsing gratefully against his chest and pulling him into a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.”

            “Matt…” Shiro croaked, throat tight from the threat of crying. “Matt, are you okay? Where have they been keeping you? Is your dad okay? I thought they pulled you out of the Coliseum matches?”

            “It’s…” he trailed off, looking purposefully to the stands. “It’s a long story.”

            “Right,” Shiro murmured, suddenly self-conscious. He had never before seen a fight from the comfort of the stadium and suddenly he wondered how well his words carried to those assembled. Anxiously he dropped his voice, leaning in closer. “We’ll talk about it later,” he promised, “Right now we have to figure out what’s going on here.”

            Matt separated from him, nodding firmly. He hesitated a moment, catching his friend’s attention. “Is Katie…?” he hedged, almost afraid to finish his sentence.

            “She’s safe,” Shiro returned assuredly.

            Satisfied, Matt nodded once more. “So,” he began, eyeing the tall grass of the arena skeptically, “Any idea what we’re in for?”

            “I don’t know,” Shiro returned warily, searching about for any sign of malevolence. “They’ve done this before,” he recounted with some difficulty, “Put multiple gladiators in at once, I mean? They pit them up against monsters of the Druid’s creation, but usually not unless it’s going to be particularly bloody.”

            “Thanks for the encouragement,” Matt shot back wryly.

            Despite their situation, Shiro couldn’t help but smile; Matt was still the same as he’d remembered him to be. “Sorry,” he offered, “But now is not the time to withhold information.”

            “Fair enough,” his friend shrugged. He frowned, peering around with interest. “Hey, Shiro, what do you think that –?”

_Click._

            A rush of air released behind them and they whirled in place to face the opposite end of the stadium. “What was _that_?” Matt wavered, taking a hesitant step back.

            Shiro grit his teeth, standing protectively ahead of his friend, arm glowing in warning. The field remained undisturbed but something acrid bit at his senses, his vision seeming to distort mirage-like as he peered toward the source of the noise. The crowd rippled with interest and Shiro tensed, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. But what met him wasn’t an enemy he could take on, but the first licks of flame overtaking a far section of grass as the field ignited.

            “Oh holy shit,” Matt swore, stumbling back.

            Shiro stared in alarm, turning with force to push Matt ahead as they made for the opposite wall. A sea of dead grass as high as Shiro’s waist surrounded them, slowing their progress as they fought their way through the thick stalks. The plants bent and snapped beneath their retreat, the sound unnervingly similar to that of the fire that was rapidly encircling them.

            The safety of the wall drew nearer.

_Click._

            Shiro lunged, grabbing for Matt’s wrist and pulling him back just as the grass before him conflagrated. They tumbled backwards, coughing hard. Already the arena was growing hazy, thick dark smoke clouding the air. Shiro hissed in frustration, pulling the neck of his uniform over the scarred bridge of his nose, Matt following suit.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” the brunet swore, voice muffled by his clothing. The entire arena was engulfed in flame, the fire spreading in an unnatural pattern around its perimeter.

            “They caged us in,” Shiro observed bitterly. “They wanted to keep us from trying anything because we know each other.”

            “How would we have escaped?” Matt retorted in exasperation. “There’s only several thousand Galra here to bear witness to it!”

            “I know,” Shiro returned shortly. His gaze flickered up to the raised dais, seeking comfort from Keith’s presence.

 _‘If the separatists were to try anything now I would be truly unable to protect him,’_ he acknowledged grimly. _‘This is bad all around; Matt’s scared and if I show that I’m panicking, too, it will only discourage him.’_

            “Stay on guard,” Shiro commanded, turning so his back aligned with Matt’s own. “They have us where they want us now and this fire is only going to keep spreading. Whatever monster they’ve cooked up can’t be far now.”

            “It might be closer than you think,” Matt answered, and Shiro bristled.

            “What do you mean?” he returned sharply, unconscious terror making his prosthetic glow. “Do you see something?”

            “Well,” Matt hummed, and Shiro crashed to one knee gasping in agony, “ _You_ certainly don’t.”

            A silent scream tore from Shiro’s throat, his body twisting in the tall grass as he fought to process the pain coursing through him. His hand flew to the gash on his thigh, darkened with blood in an instant. He felt sick, lightheaded. Matt loomed above him, impassive as he examined his stained blade.

            “Matt?”

            The name came out as more of a whimper.

            “What did you expect, Shiro?” the brunet sighed tersely. “That the Galra would just let us go free? That somehow we could both come out of this as victors? Even if they _did_ throw something in here with us do you really think they’d let the both of us live? Wake up, Shiro: nothing is coming for us. There is no evil to defeat. It’s just you and me.”

            “Matt,” Shiro supplicated again, wincing as he rose to stand. He tested his weight carefully, the laceration twinging in immediate protest. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he assuaged. “We’ll figure something out; we don’t have to play their games.” Around them the fire edged closer.

            “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Matt snapped, gesticulating wildly about them. “You know even better than I do how many guards there are in this place, how many Galra would be eager to stop us. We’re nothing to them, don’t you get that? Even _you_ with your fancy title and so-called honor – you really think any of that means a thing? We’d never make it out of the Coliseum, nonetheless the arena, and we’d be lucky if all they did was execute us. But who am I to say? _You_ should know.”

            “What…?” Shiro paused, filling with dread. “What do you mean, Matt?”

            The brunet barked a laugh, stalking through the grass and with horror Shiro recognized the predatory intent. Ignoring the blood still dripping down his leg he took a step back, keeping pace with Matt’s every move.

            Already his skin was beading with sweat, the stress of his injury only compounded by the sweltering heat of the fire. Hungrily it crackled about them, the smoke it produced enveloping Shiro in a burning embrace, stinging at his eyes and forcing its way down his throat and nose, making him choke and cough.

            “Matt?” he called, hating the way his own fear kept his arm alight despite his desperate desire for peace. The brunet clicked his tongue, turning on Shiro with a sneer.

            “You wanted a monster?” he accused, blade rising. “You wanted something the Druids twisted to shit?”

            “No, I –.”

            “Well you’re in luck,” Matt finished cruelly, “Because you already fit that description perfectly.”

            Shiro recoiled as if struck, heart collapsing in grief as the air rushed from his lungs. “Matt…” he begged, anguish evanescing into anger. “What did they tell you? What have they said about me? Don’t let them turn us against one another. You know me, Matt. You know who I am! You’re my _best friend_ , please! I don’t want to fight you.”

            “Well then that’ll make things easier for me,” Matt hummed, striking out suddenly, blade singing through the air in an arc that just narrowly missed Shiro’s left ear. Shiro ducked, stumbling to the side, his mechanical arm raised in defense. A second blow followed and the blade struck the limb with a dull clang, scraping along the length of Shiro’s forearm until Matt’s weapon fell away completely.

            Matt snarled in annoyance, retreating just long enough to return to his circling. “If you’re not going to fight me then just accept defeat already!” he bit out, brandishing his weapon for emphasis. “So just shut up and let me kill you!”

            “I can’t do that,” Shiro countered, heart heavy. “Please, just tell me what I’ve done to make you hate me. There has to have been a misunderstanding; we can work through this.”

            “What’s there to misunderstand?” Matt spat with revulsion. “You left me for dead. You left my _father_ for dead.”

            Shiro froze, rooted to the spot, the protection of his arm drooping. “No,” he murmured, “That’s not, I…”

            “I don’t want your excuses!” Matt interjected. “We thought of you as _family_ , Shiro. We always made room for you, took you with us on vacations, saved a spot for you at our table. Dad loved you like a son. And just fucking look: the second you had the chance you turned your back and saved yourself.”

            “What choice did I have?” Shiro protested brokenly. “I couldn’t save you on my own; that’s why I tried to get back home, to let somebody know you were still out there, let the Garrison know, your mom and Katie.”

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” Matt mocked, lunging forward. His attack unbalanced Shiro, whose arm met with the blade not a moment too soon. Lowered to one knee Shiro grit his teeth, just barely keeping the weapon from connecting with his head.

            “You didn’t go straight home,” Matt hissed, throwing his weight against the blade and edging ever closer to Shiro’s face. “You were here! You were right fucking here for _months_. Living the high life, no less,” he accused, suddenly pulling away.

            Without the resistance of the blade Shiro fell forward, caught by a swift kneejerk into the chest. Choking out a groan Shiro rolled to the side, clutching at his solar plexus and begging the air return to his lungs. Matt was upon him at once, stomping Shiro’s shoulder into the dirt as he raked the tip of the blade across the other’s chest. Shiro cried out, instinctually making to curl inwards but narrowly stopping as the hook rested beneath his chin. Shiro stilled, pressing back into the crushed stalks, eyes wide.

            “You don’t even have anything to say for yourself, do you?” Matt fumed. “All that time and you never once bothered to try to find or help us. No, what did you do? Joined the _fucking Galra military._ Aligned yourself with murderers, torturers, and slavers – became one yourself, by your own discretion! I know –!” Matt cut off, punctuated by a sharp cry.

            Shiro repeated his action swiftly, driving his knee into the back of Matt’s own and unbalancing him. “Sorry,” he uttered, letting the energy flood into his palm as he pushed the blade from his neck and scrabbled to safety. The head of the weapon fell, smoldering as it hit the grass, the remainder of the blade glowing red hot. Shiro exhaled through his teeth, wiping the thin trail of blood from his throat, body falling back into a defensive pose.

            Matt righted himself, boiling with anger. Incensed, he flew across the field, a scream tearing from his lips. “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE,” he screeched and the molten blade fell upon Shiro, catching him by the shoulder and searing his skin. Shiro yowled, not expecting Matt to attack from the side, neatly sidestepping his usual defenses. He backed away from his pursuer hurriedly, exposed flesh already blistering. Around them the fire raged, now a tight ring drawn to the arena’s center.

            “I know who you are,” Matt repeated, voice low but bordering on hysterical. “I know the choices you’ve made, the fucked up things you’ve done. I know I mean _nothing_ to you,” he seethed, and for a moment the plainest look of hurt crossed his features.

            “That’s not true,” Shiro corrected, shirking away as his friend advanced. “You matter to me – you’ve _always_ mattered to me. And I’m sorry, Matt. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done – for the things I _haven’t_ done, too. You didn’t deserve this.”

            “It’s too late for apologies,” Matt sneered.

            “That’s fine,” Shiro backed down at once. “You don’t have to accept them; but I am truly sorry. I’m sorry I’m so selfish, I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never, _ever_ meant to hurt you and I have no excuses.” He took another step and winced, the popping of embers sparking against his skin. He had nowhere left to run.

            “You’re trapped,” Matt pointed out with a thin smile. Shiro lowered his gaze regretfully: he knew the words held deeper meaning. The heat of the fire was becoming unbearable, the fumes and the smoke curdling in Shiro’s head, making him disoriented. The circle of safety was diminishing rapidly, scarcely a few yards separating him from his attacker.

 _‘There’s no time left,’_ he acknowledged grimly. Matt’s smile cracked, the hysteria creeping forward.

            “You get it now,” he laughed. “If one of us doesn’t kill the other then we’ll both burn to death. No one’s going to save us and no one’s going to interfere. There’s either one victor or none, so it’s going to have to be me.”

            Shiro’s gut lurched with guilt, tears carving tracks against his sooty face. He let them fall unbidden, utterly defeated. _‘If Matt dies then that’s the end for Samuel. They’ll never see their family again, they’ll never get to go back home.’_

            He sought out the dais standing poignantly ahead. _‘If I die then this mission will be jeopardized. Keith would be in danger, Thace would be in danger. If no one is there to bring Keith from his fugue then they both could be executed. Everything we fought for would be for nothing. Without the ability to form Voltron, Zarkon’s rule would go unchecked. And I… I would be leaving Keith alone, again. If I accept death then I abandon him. I…’_

            He trailed off, returning to Matt with his weapon raised, crying despite his anger. Shiro’s heart twisted. _‘Katie,’_ he thought, throwing his mechanical fist Matt’s way and making him stagger, leaving an opening. Shiro took it, putting energy behind his second fist and catching Matt by the jaw. Matt tripped, trying to right himself but falling back, hands splayed forward to catch himself. But Shiro was quicker, pinning him under his knee, his arm phasing through Matt’s back with a crunch.

            “I’m so sorry,” Shiro choked, vision blurring as tears overcame him. Matt jerked beneath him, seizing in death, then lay still. Shiro slumped forward, removing his hand, the light seeping from it as he buried his face in his palms, sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

            Around him the crowd roared their approval, their cheers sickening him further. _‘I had no other choice,’_ he tried to console himself. _‘There was nothing more I could do. He would have killed me.’_ A darker thought bubbled up from the back of his head, _‘Maybe I should have let him.’_

            Around him the fire was petering out, clearly controlled by some extent of Druidic magick. The heavy smoke clung to the arena, and Shiro hoped it was enough to obscure his tears. _‘This was a mercy killing,’_ he told himself as the announcer proclaimed him the victor. _‘If I hadn’t killed him someone else would have. Some guard would have tortured him in front of me, hunted him down until he begged for death.’_ Distantly he knew he had seen it before.

            The ground beneath him shifted, his knee sinking to the compact dirt below. Shiro frowned, pulling away with a numb sense of disbelief. Matt – rather, the illusion of him – had begun to melt away, disintegrating into nothingness as black mist poured from his death wound. Shiro watched him disappear, unable to feel relief. Instead, a hollow dread gripped him, filling him up until there was no room left, his consciousness feeling detached from his body.

 _‘It doesn’t matter,’_ he realized, barely cognizant of someone leading him out of the arena. _‘I would have killed him. I would have actually done it. One of my best friends. He was right about me,’_ Shiro agonized. _‘_ I _was right about me. I am a monster.’_

            He found belatedly that he had been taken to a simple room, white and sterile with metal cabinets lining the walls. Two uniformed Galra laid him against a chair and Shiro found he didn’t have the desire to stop them. They tore at his tattered clothes, pulling the fabric aside to reveal the rivers of his veins, sliding needles inside them as Quintessence was drained into his body. Shiro let them work, staring vacantly beyond them, mind full of bees.

            The next moment the tubes had been removed from his arms and the attendants were stripping him of his clothes, a fresh uniform laid out beside him. He waved them away and finished the job himself, wondering how long he had been there.

            Someone was chatting beside him, voice excited, their words fading in and out of his awareness as if coming from a distance. Like a lighthouse, a beacon of clarity sweeping back and forth, but never lingering for long. He walked to where they guided him, almost disappointed as they grew silent, realizing that they had never been heard in the first place.

            Ahead it was noisy, a cacophony of colors and sound, great cheers punctuating his awareness. The person who had led him was gone, replaced by someone else who fit a fluted glass into his hands. All too quickly the world came into focus, brighter and louder, almost hyperreal. Shiro winced against the onslaught, feeling as though he had emerged from the ocean in which he had been drowning.

            “Shiro?” a familiar voice queried, and the paladin sensed it was not the first time he had been called out to. He turned to the sound, finding Cora hovering beside him, bedecked in finer clothes than he’d ever seen her in. “You okay?” she asked doubtfully, delicately resting a hand to his shoulder. He let it remain, almost steadied by the touch.

            “Yeah,” he returned uncertainly, trying to ascertain his surroundings. He felt the glass in his hands, swilling it around before downing it decisively. It bubbled against his palate, a not-quite-fruity sort of champagne.

            Cora laughed, taking the flute from him and shaking her head. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” she warned, setting the glass on a platter carried by a passing servant. “You’re in no state to be drinking right now.”

            “Agreed,” Shiro assenting, pulling a face. He had never been a big drinker – despite having the legal ability to do so – and the alcohol lingered unpleasantly in his mouth. As much as he wanted to vacate his mind, to not have to think, he knew doing so would only drive him further to the breaking point.

            “I think I was dissociating,” he murmured aloud.

            “Not sure how you got here, huh?” Cora mused sympathetically.

            “No,” Shiro winced, rubbing subconsciously at the shoulder which had been horrifically burned only a short while ago.

            “Leave it,” Cora scolded, swatting at his hand. “That’s still healing; the Quintessence only works so fast.”

            “Itches,” Shiro muttered, already abandoning the conversation.

            “We’re at the Royal Palace in the First Ring – the Emperor’s place, in other words. You were here last night, too, but I guess you don’t really remember that,” Cora answered at length. “There should be another party tomorrow night, once your third match is over. Not sure after that…” she trailed off, eyeing him uncertainly. 

            “Not sure if I’ll make it?” Shiro surmised.

            “You struggled today,” Cora answered honestly. “Had me worried.”

            “You were there?”

            “In the stands,” she nodded. “Being a handmaiden I don’t have a place with the royalty – I’m not part of the Royal Guard, after all.”

            “I get the feeling you could be,” Shiro suggested. Cora tensed slightly, clearing her throat.

            “I take it you’ll want to see the prince?” she redirected. “No doubt he’ll be wanting to see you.”

            Shiro perked slightly, surprised by her account. “You think he’d _want_ to see me?” he reiterated.

            “I should think,” Cora mused, “Seeing as he was fretting the whole way to the Coliseum. Said he had faith in you but that the match should have been postponed until later. Said you’d both been through enough today – which I’d have to agree with.”

            “Any trouble?” Shiro asked.

            Cora paused, noting the ambiguity of his question. “No,” she answered slowly. “But you can bet that Maray’s in a right tizzy about security matters and plans and blah blah blah. They’ve been talking my ear off.” The feline appendages flattened in emphasis.

            “I hope they get some good sleep soon,” Shiro sighed empathetically, “I think we all could use it, really.”

            “You especially,” Cora noted, nudging his elbow lightly and slipping her hand into the crook of it.

            Shiro laughed humorlessly as she led him through the lavish mansion, sweeping past dancing couples and somber musicians bent over instruments Shiro had no names for. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he conceded, “But I don’t think I’ll sleep ‘til I’m dead.”

            “Careful,” his companion warned, “Or you might just get your wish.”

            She led him up a grand staircase into another foyer, passed a couple loitering in the doorway of yet another entertaining room. “Won’t they get in trouble?” Shiro asked under his breath. “It’s kind of bold, don’t you think?”

            “The emperor isn’t even here right now,” Cora scoffed, “Can you believe that? Not even bothering to attend his own parties: not sure if that’s self-preserving or contemptuous. He only allows the Guard near him – and Haggar. Everyone else can only approach him in a controlled environment, usually with one of those two present. Even today in the bunker; you notice how they’re never separate? I have to wonder why.”

            “I think they might be friends,” Shiro frowned, recalling the strange way Zarkon had been conversing at the theatre.

            “Well they certainly know how to use one another for their own gain,” Cora sniffed. “Here,” she intoned, drawing up to a door and knocking softly. There was a shuffle and then the click of the room being unlocked, the door swinging open to reveal Keith.

            “Oh,” Shiro breathed softly, and Cora grinned at once.

            “He’s lovely, isn’t he?” she praised, letting go of his arm and crossing the threshold to toy with the chocolatey pearls of Keith’s headpiece. They tinkled softly as his ears twitched, dangling from fine silver chains and wires wrapped around small green tourmalines. Cora brushed them into place, batted away halfheartedly as the prince redirected his attentions towards Shiro.

            “Who cares what I’m wearing?” Keith frowned, straightening his jacket as if offended.

            “I do,” Cora cocked a brow. “And Maray’s never going to forgive you if we don’t find the outfit you were in earlier today. Black pearls and all that.”

            “I can try and retrieve it,” Shiro offered peaceably. “I was with K–… Lotor… at the time. If it’s really such a –.”

            “No,” Keith interjected at once. “I…” he faltered, a faint blue glowing from the crests of his cheeks. “I’d rather you just stay here.”

            Cora made a small pleased hum, turning from her charge and giving Shiro a devilish look. “Well I’m sure there are plenty of things to discuss,” she said airily, taking her leave. “It’s been an eventful day, after all,” she paused emphatically, peering from around the door, “I’ll see to it that you aren’t disturbed.”

            Keith coughed, shaking his head. “Would you –?” he began and Shiro nodded, already understanding the request. Door locked, he returned to the prince’s side, unsure of what to do with himself. Even in private – even with the fleeting affections that they’d shared – he knew it was no longer his right to reach out to his boyfriend, to hold him and seek comfort. It was weird to realize just how consoling Cora’s now-familiar presence had been, and she was still that of a relative stranger. The faint weight of her hand at his arm had been more stabilizing than he’d known, the lack of touch leaving him even number than before.

            “We should sit down,” Keith murmured, pacing across the sitting room to settle on a plush divan wedged into an alcove. Above it the wall had been cut away to reveal the expanse of space beyond, the outer rings of City Station bisecting the view. Shiro took his place on the opposite end of the couch, watching as Keith curled up against the back and leaned into the thick glass.

            It felt that as much separated them both.

            Shiro felt himself shaking, the urge to break down overwhelming. _‘I’m so grateful that you’re alive,’_ he thought. _‘That you’re by my side. I’m so sorry for the person that I am.’_

            “Shiro?” the prince voiced hesitantly. “What is it? Are you well?”

            Shiro shook his head, face bowed to hide the tears that were bubbling forth. Images of the night’s match came unbidden, overwhelming him in a collage of pain. The seething hatred in Matt’s eyes, the sadness and hysteria he’d expressed. The weight of him beneath him, the sound of his ribs splintering as he’d punctured his back. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been real. Somehow the Druids had figured out how to imitate him, create a puppet so close in likeness that even Shiro couldn’t tell them apart. He felt like a shitty friend for a multitude of reasons.

            _‘What chance is there left that he’s even alive?’_ he thought miserably. _‘How could they have had all those mannerisms, that knowledge? How well could they have possibly studied him, all just to fuck with me?’_

            Shiro had seen what the Druids could do, had dealt with their hideous conglomeration of magick and medicine firsthand. It would be of little effort to reanimate a corpse, to download a consciousness. The Matt he fought could have been anything, but it didn’t guarantee the survival of the original.

            _‘Even if he is still out there, how could I ever face him again?’_ Shiro cried, blacking out his eyes with his palms. _‘How am I ever supposed to face Pidge?’_

“Hey…” Keith murmured, hand stretched awkwardly between them. “You’re crying. Don’t… don’t do that. Or do, I mean, that’s… fuck,” he attempted, settling back in his seat uncomfortably. “Um… I… I’m not good with this,” he admitted hotly. “With crying and stuff. I’m not all that good at the comforting thing.”

            Shiro paused, warmed by the sentiment. He laughed around a sharp inhalation, blinking away his tears to consider his boyfriend. “You’re better at it than you think,” he returned fondly. Keith only blushed a darker purple.

            “What’s going on?” Keith tried again, adopting a kinder tone. “Why are you so upset?”

            “The match today,” Shiro admitted in a whisper.

            “You won,” Keith frowned, ears cocking in confusion.

            “I know,” Shiro conceded. “But… he was my friend,” his gaze flickered up to his boyfriend’s for a moment, knowing that the words would mean little to him. “We came from the same planet,” he tried to explain. “We went to school together, were really close. I… I lost my family and he…” Shiro broke off, choking back a fresh wave of tears, the false Matt’s accusations still ringing in his mind.

            “So…” Keith proceeded uneasily, “This was before you were made a paladin? After I woke up?”

            “Woke up?” Shiro repeated, confused.

            “Yeah,” the prince nodded resolutely. “I was raised among the Alteans and when the war became dire they placed me in a cryo-pod to hide me from my father. After ten thousand years I awoke on the Castle of Lions, alongside Princess Allura and King Alfor’s advisor. Then you and those like you showed up and we were made paladins. Or… at least I assume that’s how you got there: I still don’t really remember you.”

            Shiro blinked, taken aback.

            “But none of that matters now,” Keith continued with a small shrug. “That was part of my past life, before I came to my senses. If it weren’t for Commander Thace –.”

            “What do you mean your ‘past life’?” Shiro cut in anxiously.

            Keith paused, scowling slightly. “My past life,” he repeated, as if the answer was clear enough. “From when I was still the Altean’s pet. It doesn’t matter what came before now,” he explained, “My life is as it should be and I can move on now.”

            “That’s not…” Shiro sighed, grappling with the words. “That’s not how it works,” he supplicated. “Things – people – don’t just stop mattering to you because they’re a part of your past. You can’t just undo them and even if you move on you don’t forget them.”

            “I don’t understand,” Keith returned plainly. “It’s simple, isn’t it? There was my life before and my life now: everything prior to this point is inconsequential because it was fake. It’s the same for you, right? You were a paladin and now you’re home were you belong.”

            The words weighed heavy in Shiro’s gut but Keith continued, unaware of the pain he was causing.

            “Lance Corporal Shirogane, Grand Champion of… well, me,” he shrugged with some embarrassment, “And servant of the Galra Empire. How can anything else matter? I mean, I know you’re… not Galra… but I don’t see how that human could matter to you, at least not now. You wouldn’t be the person he knew, anyway.”

            “You’re right,” Shiro returned slowly, “I’m not the same person that Matt knew, but he still matters to me and is still my friend. He was still a part of my life and the friendship I had with him was no less real because of the differences between my past and present self.”

            “That,” Keith frowned, “That’s exactly the part I don’t get. If you weren’t truly yourself then can you say that your relationships were even truly real? What would they be based on? Lies? How is that something meaningful?”

            _‘If you weren’t my boyfriend,’_ Shiro sighed inwardly, _‘And you weren’t in a fugue, I’d be very close to punching you about now.’_

            “Because,” he pressed, trying to keep his indignation in check. “People aren’t static: they grow and they change and that’s to be expected. Some people change a lot, others hardly at all. The relationships you make over the course of your life are always going to be qualitatively different from one another, but they’re no less real because of who you become.

            “And sometimes they don’t work out; sometimes you realize that you were in a place that led to bad relationships and sometimes you have to cut those people out of your life for your own sake – that happens. But the people that remain? Even if you lose touch with them they’re still apart of you and what made you the person you are. The bad people too, I guess. But the point is that no matter how different you become – from yourself, from one another – those relationships are still there, and they’re still valid. They still matter.

            “That’s what I mean: I know that I’m a different person, I accept that. And hopefully Matt would accept that, too. But no matter what happens Matt still matters to me and was still an important part of my life – nothing can rewrite or undo that. Who I was as a paladin and the friendships I made then are just as important as who I am now and the friendships I will make moving forward.”

            “Then…” Keith fidgeted, tracing a claw along the brocade of his jacket. “You mean to tell me that those people –,” he broke off, catching the hurt in Shiro’s expression. “That the other _paladins_ ,” he corrected, “Were… are… still my friends? But… we’re enemies. How could that be? How could they possibly like me – and how could I like _them_ – if we’re completely different?”

            “Pidge,” Shiro reminded him softly, and Keith perked up at once. “Without the biographical stuff, without knowing that she’s a paladin or even a human, you still liked her, right? You were so eager to know about her, to try and remember your friendship. She was a really important person to you,” he paused, swallowing the rest of his words.

_‘In some ways more than me.’_

            “Even being…” Shiro hedged, working quickly to rephrase his thoughts, “Even if she’s a paladin and you’re the prince, the feelings you have towards each other are still there, right? No matter what, you’re going to find yourself caring about that other person, wanting the best for them even if it’s in contradiction to everything else.”

            “So…” Keith bit his lip, hope gathering in his softly glowing eyes, “I can still want her to be okay? Even though she and the others are my enemies?”

            “Well… yeah,” Shiro smiled sadly, “Even if it’s complicated.”

 _‘It’s hard to see you struggling like this,’_ he lamented. _‘The sooner we find a way to wake you from this fugue the less complicated things will become. The less guilt you’ll have to feel for loving your friends.’_

            “I see,” Keith murmured, turning back to stare at the starscape beyond. They sat in silent contemplation, Shiro trying to hold the moment in his mind’s eye forever: Keith, bathed in starlight, afforded every luxury he deserved, an entire empire at his feet. He extended a hand towards him, freezing as the prince started, wide eyed. Calming, Keith took his hand gently, an awkward gesture of comfort, though for whose benefit Shiro wasn’t certain.

            “Do you think Pidge would still be my friend?” Keith asked quietly.

            “Yes,” Shiro returned without hesitation. “Pidge adores you; you’re like a brother to her. Like family.”

            “Like Matt was to you?”

            Shiro felt the sorrow stir in his chest. “Yes,” he answered softly.

            “Then I’m sorry,” Keith murmured, no longer able to look at Shiro. “It must be hard to lose someone you love.”

            Shiro bit a lip, his boyfriend blissfully unaware of how true his sentiment rang.

 _‘It is hard,’_ he thought heavily, _‘More than you know.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am so sorry. 
> 
> Ches read the fight scene to me, and the way she read the Matt clone's lines was absolutely chilling... I seriously teared up. Hopefully you guys were able to get the same emotional response out of that scene. She's really outdone herself this chapter.
> 
> Also, Annis!! Annis is actually a cannon character -- he's the long-limbed Galra commander who's constantly pushing buttons in the background of every finale episode. Canonically his name is Commander Throk -- we extended his name to Annis Saggarian nan Throk; he has had no speaking lines thus far. He's a fuckboy who loves to vape. 
> 
> We'll see you guys next Friday! Have a wonderful week and enjoy season two if you haven't yet! 
> 
> ~Moosey


	9. Origin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Physical and psychological abuse; slutshaming.

            Lo awoke to the sound of the servant’s entrance to his apartment clicking open, followed by soft footsteps plodding into his room. Groaning, Lo pulled his pillow over his head, already dreading Cora’s attempts to wake him.

            “Prince Lotor?” a plaintive voice inquired.

            Lo sat up, the pillow falling to the wayside as he spotted the new occupant of the room. A petite woman stood by his bedside, clutching a glass tablet to her side. She was decidedly not Galra, body covered in a downy layer of pale yellow fluff, the entirety of her eyes a dewy black – she was dressed in the same kind of uniform typically sported by Cora or the other palace staff.

            “Who…?” Lo asked mistily, squinting at the stranger. She bowed elegantly before presenting the tablet to the prince.

            “My name is Vespi, I’m filling in for Miss Cora for today,” the maid explained. “She instructed me to give this to you; the translator in this room should be able to convert the words by sight.”

            Lo thanked the maid, accepting the tablet and setting it aside, “Where is she?”

            Vespi shook her head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know – she left earlier this morning. I’ve already set out breakfast for you in the dining room, your majesty.”

            “Thanks,” Lo nodded. “When does everything start today?”

            “You are scheduled to attend a Vlippendho race at four myokven – its only two myokven, so you have some time yet,” Vespi explained, stepping into his closet, her voice carrying out into the room. “It appears that Miss Cora has already set out an outfit for the match today. Please take your time to enjoy the morning, my liege.”

            Lo thanked her again as she left, turning towards the glass tablet that Cora had left him. He tapped the screen, glowing words trailing over the surface in neat handwriting – the translator took a moment to affect his vision, the strange symbols arranging themselves into a familiar alphabet.

_Lo,_

_Sorry I couldn’t be there to help you today, something came up with my dad – dunno if or when I’ll be back. Hopefully I’ll still be able to be your handmaid if everything works out. It’s been fun getting to hang out with you and the champion; you’re both great guys. Try not to be too harsh on Vespi, she can kind of be a nosy pain but she’s alright._

_Hope you like what I set out for you today. The mouse was kind of insistent on it._

_Cora_

            Lo set the tablet aside, frowning at the stilted manner of the message. With a sigh he leaned back into his pillows, relieved to finally have some time to himself. As he rearranged the covers around him the linens seem to admit a protesting squeak and a moment later, the lavender mouse emerged from the bed with a yawn. Quirking a smile, Lo offered the cup of his palm to the creature, who sniffed a scoff at him before eyeing the offered appendage and hesitantly climbing into it. Lo settled the mouse next to his head, scanning the room for something to occupy himself with.

            His eyes fell on the stack of books that Lieutenant Thace had left on his bedside and Lo grabbed the nearest one, turning to a pace demarcated by a thin scrap of laminate being used as a bookmark. The material fluttered down next to the mouse, who took it in his little paws and gave it a shake.

            “Yeah, you enjoy that,” Lo smirked down at the animal, turning his attention to the heavy textbook. Someone had scribbled in the margins, a cartoon of a miniature Zarkon with a hyperbolically grumpy face glaring up at the prince. He sniffed, leafing through the pages and taking in the sarcastic notes and doodles that clogged the pages. Suddenly, the mouse clambered up into the book, holding up the thin sheet of plastic and squeaking urgently.

            “I’m still looking,” he told the rodent, attempting to shoo it from the page. The mouse scowled and bent the plastic between its hands, tenting it in the middle of the book. From the bend, a tiny screen was projected, a slew of handwritten words cluttering it.

            Frowning, Lo leaned forward and pressed his fingers to the page, finding that it flipped through much like a book. The handwriting looked identical to that in the textbook and Lo stopped to read, finding it composed like a diary entry:

_Marke 11-201_

_De’elsis has finally agreed to negotiate, so we’re at Pence as ~~bodyguards~~ representatives of the Vol Alliance at a peace summit with all the other reps from the planets (uh also okay can I just say that one of the representatives for Gal is lookin’ tidy as all get out, though???). I’m really hoping this is the real deal and not just another shit trick of theirs, because we’ve been at war so long that Qurm actually had to drop out of the war???? Can you even do that???? So I mean… they’re not here. _

_However, representatives from the remainder of the Vol(tron) Alliance are here. I’ve jot down their names here so I don’t forget:_

_Altea: King Alfor & Councilwoman ?????_

_Stell: Prime Minister Rushe & The First Gentleman Gor (I think?)_

_O’shetal: Lady President Fliance & ??????_

_Gal: Mother of Constellations Mugenleb & ????? (Hot Guy!!!!!)_

_De’elsis: Queen Buteao & Prince Aquelle _

Lo frowned, tracing one of the names of the officials with his index finger – Mugenleb. Quickly, it registered why it sounded so familiar: it had been the word that he’d heard in the catacombs while the specter had been holding his face.

            ‘ _Then that had probably been_ her _ghost_ ,’ Lo reasoned, skimming over the rest of the page. He took pause, a word immediately jumping out at him: paladin.

            ‘ _Whose diary_ is _this_?’ he wondered, going back to read over the entry from the beginning:

* * *

            The blue paladin rolled onto her tiptoes, craning her head out beyond the broad chest of the red paladin. The young representative from Gal sat down at the end of the table the paladins stood besides, chin rested on the steeple of his fingertips. He glanced back towards her, blinking in confusion as the blue paladin shot him a friendly smile – only to be yanked back into formation by her pauldron.

            “If you keep straining like that, you’ll hurt your neck,” said the red paladin softly, voice as unwavering as ever. “As always, your dedication to discretion never ceases to amaze me, Serro.”

            The blue markings on Serro’s cheeks immediately began to glow as she stood to attention. Beside her, she felt a bump on her thigh and glanced down to the yellow paladin, who was standing in place, twisting her torso left and right as she let her arms flop beside her. Her brother – the green paladin – had completely (and literally) withdrawn, three large leaves having emerged from his neck and wrapped around his head like a hood.

            Upon noticing her teammate’s gaze, the yellow paladin glanced up at Serro, smiled and said loudly:

            “Coran said you want to quiznak the Galra prin—,”

            The red paladin immediately reached behind Serro and hit the smallest paladin upside the head before she could draw too much attention. The black paladin immediately turned to his team from where he was flanking their advisor King Alphor, his eyes carrying a clear promise of death. Serro bit down a squeak of terror, sure that her face would literally combust if she blushed any harder.

            Thankfully, it appeared that the meeting seemed to be wrapping up. As soon as the representatives were dismissed, the red paladin took both Serro and the yellow Paladin by the shoulders and proceeded to drag them out into the hall. Peeling back one of the leaves obscuring his face, the green paladin trotted after them, violet eyes peering around anxiously.

            “While I’m flattered to have been honored with the position of Team Voltron’s babysitter,” the red paladin began firmly, meeting Serro’s petulant gaze and the yellow paladin’s intense, bewildered one. “I was not expecting to intervene as much as I’ve had to in the past several days.”

            “Is it a crime to look at someone, Orkah?” Serro muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. The reptilian-looking man arched an eyebrow, mirroring her posture.

            “You’re a grown woman, Serro. I expect you not to—,” Orkah began, but was sharply cut off by the yellow paladin, who’d grabbed Serro by the elbow and was tugging on it viciously.

            “Oooh, Serro! There he is! Look, look!” she hissed excitedly, the little hydrangea buns on her head blooming in excitement. She jabbed a finger towards the Galra prince, who was stepping out of an adjacent door, studying the notes on his glass tablet. “Go say hi!”

            “Fiola—,” Orkah began, ever the long-suffering caretaker of the group. However, his words fell on deaf ears as Fiola stepped behind the blue paladin and gave her a mighty push towards the prince. Serro tripped several steps, drawing short just in time to avoid a collision. Startled, the prince stuck his arms out to catch her, almost dropping his tablet in the process.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, lowering his hands. Serro stared at him, heart thundering into the hollows of her throat as she opened her mouth and let out an almost-silent squeak.

            Behind her, she heard Orkah sigh.

            “I’m a paladin,” the Altean woman spat out.

            “I…” the prince looked her up and down, obviously taking in her armor. “I can see that.”

            “Yeah I,” Serro coughed, shifting her shoulders back and forth in an awkward little dance. “I fly a lion. In space. Its blue.”

            “It,” he nodded, licking his lips. “It matches your armor.”

            “Sure does,” she nodded emphatically. “I mean, I have a lot of things that match it. Like, my face.”  
            “Your… your face?” his yellow eyes narrowed in confusion, his head cocking to the side. Serro pinned her lips together, almost screaming.

            “Yeah. My cheeks – they’re blue,” Serro explained needlessly. “I – I have to go. I mean. Not to, like, the loo, but to like – go. Do paladin things.”

            “…I… see,” the prince said, now completely perplexed.

            “Um,” Serro smiled, waving at him right in his face. “Bye!”

            “Goodbye?” he echoed awkwardly as Serro shuffled backwards towards her team, nearly bumping into the black paladin’s chest.

            “Zarky!” she clasped her hands beside her cheek sweetly as soon as she spotted him, twirling to face Voltron’s completely-unimpressed leader. He glared down at her with listless golden eyes, lips thin. “How’re you do—?”

            “I would say I expected more of you,” he said flatly, striding past her with an unaffected air. “But that would be a lie. You’d do best to keep your hands and words to yourself, especially in the presence of finer company.”

            “Sir,” Serro turned to face his back, saluting despite the offense creeping up her spine.

            Orkah strode after the black paladin, touching Serro’s shoulder as he went. He gave her a look that was half-exasperated, half-reassuring – she knew he’d sort things out.

            “Honestly,” she sighed as soon as the two were out of earshot. “We’d be falling apart at the seams if it weren’t for Orkah.”

            “He really does stick his neck out for you, doesn’t he?” the green paladin observed softly, stepping up beside Serro. He tilted his head up to face her, expression as drawn as ever. “Even when he doesn’t have to.”

            Serro felt a pang of guilt, raking a hand through her bangs. Fiola stepped up to her twin’s side, elbowing him hard in the gut.

            “Ow,” he said, voice completely avoid of emotion as he doubled over.

            “Ce _bas_!” Fiola enthused, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him gently. “Be nice!”

            “I wasn’t aware I was being mean,” Cebas said quietly. “Just making an observation.”

            “Yeah, a _mean_ one!” Fiola flicked his forehead, turning towards Serro who was giving the pair a little half-smile, still reeling from the insult.

            “Hey,” the O’shetal girl encouraged, giving Serro’s hip another little shove. “Go try again, yeah?”

            “What am I supposed to say?” the Altean snorted, leaning her hip to one side. “That introduction didn’t exactly go as smoothly as planned, now did it?”

            “Tell him you want to quiznak him,” Fiola smirked, hiding her mischievous smile behind her hands.

            “I mean,” Serro’s grin brightened, growing genuine. “That’s one way to get the point across.”

            “We need to escort Princess Allura to her guest chambers first,” Cebas interjected, stepping up between them.

            “UGH, don’t be a buzzkill!” Fiola rolled her eyes, grabbing her brother by the wrist and yanking him away. “The princess doesn’t need three people to walk her to her room, dummy. She’ll live with just the two of us. Don’t blow it, Serro,” the yellow paladin added over her shoulder with a wink.

            Serro laughed nervously, turning towards the direction that the prince had disappeared to. It wasn’t terribly difficult to find him; he was situated in the very same spot that Serro had first seen him several days earlier: in an open-air atrium at the very center of the meeting halls. He’d brushed the fine dusting of snow off of a small stone bench, activating the responsive heat of the red tree behind him. He was observing a hologram of the Vol system, stylus pressed between the curves of his predator teeth.

            Serro held back for a moment to watch, although it made her feel deeply creepy. There was a look of genuine concentration of his face as he reached out and gathered one of the miniature planets into his hand, expanding it and drawing up his notes. There was much more than a pretty face there for Serro to admire: the way he looked with his head tilted inquisitively, how he carried himself, the rapport and quiet confidence in his words when he made propositions during the proceedings.

            But most of all, it was his kindness that struck her. He always placed a top priority on the freedom of captured planets and prisoners of war, frequently coming back to reparations and war aid when the talks would begin to focus strictly on regaining lost property. Where others saw territories and resources, he saw people.

            From behind her there was a mild laugh and Serro nearly jumped to see a Galra woman standing several feet away from her. Haggar, the resident Druid of Team Voltron, gave Serro a thin-lipped smile. Serro produced a little wave, attempting to be as polite as possible. The Druid hummed thoughtfully and turned away without responding, presumably to go tattle to Zarkon about Serro peeping on the prince.

            “Weirdo,” Serro grumbled before returning to the task at hand.

Taking a deep breath, Serro pushed open one of the glass doors, doing her best to stroll out casually but coming across more like a novice thespian pantomiming a jaunty walk.

            As soon as she approached him, the prince looked up, disengaging the holograms from his tablet and setting it aside, “May I help you?”

            Serro’s brain ground to a complete halt, quickly skipping over every hackneyed pickup line she knew and settling on her favorite ice breaker: “You wanna come see my lion?”

* * *

            “Wow.”

            “I know, right?”

            Serro leaned against the massive paw of the Blue Lion, patting the metal like one might a beloved pet, “Eyup, Misty and I here have gone through quite the career together. Taking out enemy ships, saving entire words, just generally being awesome and amazing.”

            To Serro’s surprise, the prince grinned and laughed, ducking down his head. To her relief, he seemed genuinely amused – the laughter wasn’t mocking at all. Her grin brightened and she relaxed more fully onto Misty’s leg.

            “And how long has this illustrious career lasted?” the prince asked, coming to stand beside Serro.

            “Uh,” the Altean woman scratched at the side of her nose, glancing away. “I mean, it’s been about ten of your seasons.”

            “So maybe not such an extensive career?” the prince smiled, lightly leaning his shoulder into Serro’s.

            “Nah, I guess not,” she admitted, ducking her head and smiling pointedly at her sabotons.

            “Lady Paladin,” he began slowly, drawing Serro’s attention away from her feet. “Do you think I might be able to see inside? If that’s going to be an issue, I understand, but I really—.”

            Misty was already folding down into a crouch as if in response to Serro’s enthusiasm, startling the prince into stepping away from the craft. Serro laughed, reaching out to take both of his wrists in her hands and guiding him towards the lion’s maw.

            “It’s _Serro,_ by the way,” she rolled up on her toes to inform him as if it would help to close the two foot height difference. “Not ‘Lady Paladin’ – unless you’d like me to call you ‘The Honorable Prince of Central Gal’.”

            He winced as if the title caused him physical pain. “Just Thace is fine— _please_ ,” he added a little desperately.

* * *

            “Thace?” Lo’s eyebrows shot up, immediately recognizing the name – that was the same name as the officer that had accompanied him to court, and based on the description in the diary, it was the very same person.

* * *

            “Okay Thace,” Serro smirked, finally releasing one of his hands as they boarded the lion. She gently pulled him up into the cockpit, planting him in the captain’s chair. He started in surprise as the small woman proceeded to vault over the arm rest and plopped into his lap. The seat was pulled forward up to the controls, the motion pressing Serro closer.

            “Sorry,” Serro hummed, actually not sorry at all. “There’s only one chair – hope you don’t mind?”

            “I—,” Thace’s eyes were huge, his entire face growing a shade of purple deeper.

            “Alright then!” the blue paladin grinned impishly. She turned completely in his lap so that they were seated pressed chest-to-back; she proceeded to grab the lap belt to her right and pull it around the both of them.

            “What are you doing?” Thace asked, sounding genuinely alarmed. He grasped Serro around the middle when Misty rocked to her feet, disengaging her tail from the charging port.

            “You said you wanted to see the Blue Lion, right?” Serro shot a mischievous look over her shoulder. “I’m about to show you what this kitty can do.”

            “Won’t you get in trouble?” the prince inquired as Misty taxied out of the hangar and prepared for takeoff.

            “Nah,” shrugged Serro, engaging the thrusters. “Besides, I kinda want to get away from this dreary planet for like two tics.”

            “I mean, it _is_ a little crowded in th— _ah!”_ Thace held fast on Serro as the Blue Lion launched itself into space. The paladin threw back her head and laughed at his reaction.

            “I’m so sorry! I’m being a bit of a dick right now, aren’t I?” she reached beside herself to pat his thigh. “Seriously, just let me know if you get uncomfortable at all. I’ll knock it off.”

            “…I’m perfectly content where I am,” Thace mumbled good-naturedly, sending a silvery little shock through Serro’s sternum.

            “Well if that’s the case,” Serro pressed on the thrusters, urging the lion forward. “Let’s go see some stars!”

            The trip to Pence’s small moon took hardly more than a minute at most. It was considerably warmer there and seemed to act as some sort of national park for the planet below. Serro landed Misty close to a copse of trees and leapt out of Thace’s lap, taking the cup of his hand in hers and all but jogging for the outside.

            “You’re a very eager person, aren’t you Miss Serro?” the prince smiled, allowing himself to be dragged along. They stepped out of Misty’s mouth into the cool night air amongst the light jade glow of the luminescent rocks that littered the moon.

            “Damn straight, ‘Mister Thace’,” the blue paladin responded almost immediately, finding a soft patch of field in a clearing. “Right here.”

            She gestured towards the area and settled down, turning on her back and letting herself sink into the soft ground. The Galra prince followed suit, sitting cross-legged beside her spread-eagle form. He rested back on the heels of his palms, enjoying the blanket of stars that spilled around them. Pence was a fat, milky orb in the sky dotted pink with the swirl of salt clouds. The soft light it emitted played over Thace’s handsome face, bringing a glow to his cheeks and highlighting the softness of his gaze.

            He glanced down to Serro, having obviously felt her eyes on him. She immediately tore them away, but was surprised at his gentle touch on her wrist. Serro glanced back over to Thace, who had directed that gentle gaze towards her. Again, Serro’s heart fluttered and she felt the markings on her cheeks began to glow with heat.

            Thace leaned over, raising his hand and then hesitating. “I’m sorry – that was very forward of me, I apologize.”

            “You’re talking to the crown Queen of Forward,” Serro responded, taking his hovering hand and placing his fingertips on the little markings.

            “Oh, the Queen of Forward?” Thace echoed, smoothing his thumb over the blue triangle. “Miss ‘my face matches my lion’? Could you possibly be the same person?”

            “You’re takin’ the piss!” Serro scrunched up her nose in humor, laughing as she battled his hand away. “Why’d you wanna touch them anyway?”

            “I…” he hesitated, looking a little sheepish. “I wanted to see if they were warm.”

            “Now who’s awkward?”

            “I said nothing of the sort; are you calling yourself awkward?”

            “…maybe?”

            Thace laughed, drawing his knees up to his chin and staring forward into the copse, soaking in the gemtone light. Suddenly, the pair started, their attention drawn to the sound of a ship breaking the sound barrier. Serro watched the sleek form of a De’elsian fighter unit disappear into Pence’s atmosphere, feeling a cold water sensation in her gut.

            “It must be disorienting to see them in this context,” Thace said softly, picking up on Serro’s discomfort.

            “Yeah, for the past nine ye—eighteen seasons, I’ve been used to their appearance being supplicated with cannon fire,” Serro admitted, rolling onto her side to face the prince.

            “So you were a pilot before you became a paladin?” Thace surmised. Serro nodded in response.

            “Yeah,” she confirmed. “That’s _how_ I became a paladin, actually. I was in a fleet led by the last blue paladin, and they were shot down. I was part of a small section of the fleet meant to rescue them, but by the time we got there it was almost too late.”

            Serro shifted her gaze towards the silhouette of the lion visible through the thin wood, “None of our little fighter units were capable of going fast enough to get them back to The Castle of Lions for healing before they died. The only way was going to be piloting Misty – and as luck would have it, she let me in.”

            “And the paladin?” Thace inquired – Serro’s already wavering expression fell in response.

            “I was able to get them back to the castle, but the crash had caused them to have a brain hemorrhage on the flight there,” she explained, a bitter smile crossing her face. “Even in the lion, I wasn’t fast enough.”

            Thace was quiet, but touched her wrist again with the tips of his fingers. Serro smiled at the kind gesture.

            “I guess I just kind of fell into the role of blue paladin after that,” she sighed, drawing her knees closer to her stomach. “I mean, this all took place during a _huge_ attack on Qurm and the Alliance needed Voltron more than a perfectly qualified blue paladin, so…” she glanced back up at Thace. “Here I am.”

            “That was very noble of you,” the prince complemented Serro, but she just laughed.

            “No, I don’t think so,” she admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything noble about me – I was just doing what I needed to do because it was right.”

            There was a stretch of silence during which Thace finally laid his back down on the grass to face the stars.

            “That’s why you do what you do, right?” Serro inquired, rolling to face the astral sphere as well. “Because it’s what’s right?”

            “What do you mean?” Thace inquired.

            “You never let anyone forget about the _individuals_ affected by this war,” she emphasized. “I feel like everyone forgets them in favor of the bigger picture. But you’re not like that – you think through the particulars. Like how we were going to split the territory on Fala between the De’elsians and the Falisians? It seemed to be a fair trade, but you reminded everyone that the trees on the territory we were going to give up were an important part of the Falisians’ culture and diet. It’s like you’re the only one who even did the research.”

            “You make me sound so gallant,” Thace laughed, shaking his head. “It’s just… it’s a simple matter of putting yourself in their shoes. This war has taken so much from everyone already – I don’t feel like it is the Alliance’s place to trade away any more. In situations like this, I feel as if it is necessary for at least one person to be aware of those tinier effects – in the end, even smallest misgivings can cascade into wars, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

            “You’re really mindful,” Serro observed, blown away by the observation.

            “Someone has to be.”

            “Because it’s the right thing to do?”

            “Yes,” said the prince. “I—what is that?”

            Serro stiffened immediately upon seeing the approaching craft, an ill feeling dripping into her gut, “My _nannies,_ apparently. Ugh, why did they _both_ have to come?”

            The red and black lion swept down onto the moon, landing pointedly beside the blue. Serro stood and brushed off what mossy grass she could, burying her face in her hands as she started off into the copse of trees, Thace on her heels. They met the red and black paladins halfway through the woods, Serro holding out her wrists in a chagrined sort of manner. Wordlessly, Zarkon approached Serro with a pair of cuffs, clasping each around her wrists – they activated and came together with a magnetic _clink_.

            Orkah approached Thace, nodding his head in respect. “I apologize for this one – she has a bad habit of violating her parole.”

            “Parole?” Thace’s expression clouded over in confusion as he stared at Serro, who was glaring down at the forest floor, shamefaced.

            “Serro,” Zarkon explained, grabbed the blue paladin by the shoulder and shoving her towards her craft. “Stole a downed fighter during wartime and used it in illegal military airspaces. Only after evading the authorities for several myokokak was she caught and tried for theft and civil disobedience. In place of _traditional_ punishment, she was enlisted in hopes to reform.”

            “You’re a criminal?” the prince asked in astonishment and Serro winced, feeling the question like a blow.

            “Those piloting skills sure came in handy, didn’t they?” she grinned over her shoulder at Thace, who was looking increasingly disappointed. She looked away in guilt, hanging her head in derision. The blue lion opened its mouth as the quartet approached, Zarkon giving Serro one final shove towards it. The cuffs immediately separated, although Serro’s arms were jerked forward, dragging her into the craft.

            ‘ _Return to the hangar immediately,_ ’ Zarkon’s thoughts informed her, scratching up against her brain with their foreign presence.

            “What about Thace?” Serro asked over her shoulder, resisting the tug of the cuffs.

            “We will return _the Prince_ to the meeting halls ourselves,” said Zarkon, already facing away from Serro. Smothering down a groan of protest, she allowed herself to be dragged into the Lion proper, hands clamping over the thrusters of their own accord and steering her back.

            Once she was safely landed in the hangar, the cuffs gave another violent lurch and Serro hardly had enough time before she was pulled from the Blue Lion into Zarkon’s waiting grip. Immediately, the black paladin grasped her chin roughly, jerking her towards him.

            “What _do_ you get out of this?” he said very lowly, forcing Serro to stare into the pierce of his narrowed yellow eyes. “Do you enjoy trying my patience, you willful child? Because I promise you, it has long since run out.”

            Serro said nothing, biting her lower lip in an attempt to bottle in every retort she wanted to make.

            “What is your fascination with using your Lion like a toy, hm?” he asked again. “Rather, as a tool to lure lovers to you for your little _trysts._ What should I do with you, Serro?” Zarkon hummed, dragging his clawed thumb up into the sensitive ball of her jaw and pressing hard. Serro winced at the pain, feeling her eyes tear over in response. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

            Serro pinned him with an icy glare, daring to open her mouth despite the pressure on her jaw, “I have _nothing_ to say to _you_ , quixgalra.”

            The insult was met with a sharp sting of the back of his hand across Serro’s cheek. She did not turn back to face him, instead choosing to glare at the wall of the hangar. He seized her roughly by the roots of her hair, attempting to force her gaze.

            “If it were up to me, you’d be rotting in a cell,” Zarkon growled into her ear, his own ears pressed flat to his head. “You’re not worthy of being a paladin, you ylchaal—.”

            “Ilbe.”

            The grip on Serro’s hair was immediately dropped and she struggled to right herself. Orkah had stepped into the hangar, just having finished escorting Thace to the main building. He reached out to set a hand on the black paladin’s pauldron, frowning.

            “Leave this one to me,” he said, squeezing Zarkon’s shoulder softly.

            Teeth grit, the Galra glanced back at Serro, who was rubbing her jaw with an acidic look on her face, “Make sure she doesn’t leave our quarters for the remainder of the summit except on strict orders from myself or King Alfor.”

            “Yes, ilbe,” Orkah nodded, watching as their leader strode out of the hangar. Once the door had closed behind him, the red paladin sighed and turned his gaze onto Serro, who was facing away from him, now picking testily at the cuffs.

            “What am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. The question sounded much more exasperated than threatening as it had been from Zarkon.

            “Let me go,” Serro mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or at least get me out of his sight, I think we’d all appreciate that.”

            Orkah sighed again and gently turned Serro around, observing the bruise on her cheek where Zarkon had driven his thumb into her jaw. Something like pity flashed over his violet eyes before he pulled her into a hug.

            “I am sorry for embarrassing you,” he said. “But you understand—.”

            “I know, I’m a criminal,” Serro mumbled into his chest plate.

            “Serro, you know your first duty is to Team Voltron, correct?” Orkah pulled away, holding Serro gently by the shoulders. “In wartime, there is no room for romantic pursuits.”

            “Oh, that’s rich coming from _you,_ ” Serro sniped, immediately regretting it as hurt crossed Orkah’s features. She looked away, biting back tears. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—.”

            “It is alright,” Orkah said, dropping his hands from her shoulders. “I think we’re all frustrated right now.”

            Serro nodded and wordlessly followed her teammate out of the hangar. As they crossed the sky walk to the main building, Serro raised her head.

            “Why do you always stick your neck out for me?” she inquired.

            “Because, like Fiola says, I am a turtle,” Orkah said, voice absolutely empty of humor. Despite her upset Serro grinned and laughed softly.

            “You know what I mean.”

            Orkah showed her a rare smile before going ahead to answer her: “It is because we are a team, no matter how Zarkon acts or feels about it – and someone needs to keep this team in balance.”

            “ _You_ should have been the black paladin,” Serro said softly as they entered the building.

            “Thank you, Serro. That is flattering,” Orkah lead her into the paladins’ quarters, coming up beside her door and removing the cuffs.

            “Well, g’night,” Serro began, surprised as Orkah caught her by the elbow.

            “Just because there is war now, that does not mean it will last forever,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Again, I am sorry for what I said in front of the prince – I’m certain that someone will have a good word for you when they speak to him next.”

            Serro grinned, understanding what her friend was trying to say, “And will that good word include how much of an amazing and awesome person I am?”

            Orkah’s face became blasé, “Don’t push it, Serro.”

* * *

            “Bad news.”

            Serro and Fiola glanced up from where they were occupying themselves with the broadcast, which was displayed over a glass tabletop. Cebas had just spoken from where he was curled up on an armchair, his tablet drawn close to his nose.

            “Oooh, did the Jerts loose at Vlippendho Racing again?” Fiola fussed, popping a silicone necklace out of her mouth.

            “Mmm, no,” her twin said quietly. “Please get the captain.”

            Fiola hopped up from the couch, striding down the hall and tapping on Orkah and Zarkon’s door.

            “Stop having sex,” she said loudly. “Cebas has something important to say.”

            The door swung open and Orkah propped himself up against the doorframe.

            “That was quick,” Fiola blinked. “Good sex?”

            “Yes, it was the best three seconds of my life,” Orkah said flatly, stepping around her. Zarkon followed, shooting the yellow paladin a glare as he walked into the living room.

            “Well Viola,” he addressed the yellow paladin, accent warping her name. “What is it?”

            “Cebas?” she prompted gently, turning to her brother.

            Cebas stared up at Zarkon with wide, violet eyes, leaves beginning to creep out of his neck. The black paladin scowled.

            “ _Well_?” he pressed testily.

            The green paladin shook his head and began to rock back and forth violently, whimpering softly. Fiola scoffed loudly at Zarkon, immediately joining her brother’s side.

            “You’re scaring him!” she scolded, kneeling in front of her twin. “CB, will you tell me?”

            “The… De’elsians,” Cebas muttered, handing over the tablet. “Their messages.”

            Fiola immediately drew up the holographic screen on the tablet and expanded it for the whole of Team Voltron to see. Serro felt the blood drain from her face.

            “Oh _quiznak_ ,” she swore. “It was a trap. This whole summit was a trap.”

            “Thank you for the summary, Serro,” said Orkah. “Now what to do?”

            “It’s simple,” Zarkon responded almost immediately. “We do nothing.”

            The rest of the paladins turned to him in shock.

            “ _What_?” Serro hissed. “Why?!”

            “If we attack first, the De’elsians will be able to identify us as the aggressors,” the black paladin summarized for the group. “We must wait until they strike before we make a move – that way they cannot blame us for dissolving the attempts at peace.”

            “But if we wait for them, who knows how many people could be killed?!” Serro shouted, approaching Zarkon angrily. “The representatives could all be in danger!”

            “It would be better in the long run, especially if the De’elsians’ attack is concentrated on the summit, as detailed in these messages,” Zarkon responded emotionlessly, gesturing towards the hologram. “Besides, we will have the upper hand in the end.”

            “But—!”

            “That is _enough_ , soldier,” Zarkon bit, drawing to his full height above Serro, who drew up her to meager one in turn. “I’ve already heard more than necessary from you.”

            “Well I think they’re _both_ stupid plans, anyway,” Fiola shrugged, planting her hands on her hips. She instantly drew the gaze of the team and almost withered under Zarkon’s glare.

            “ _What_ was that?” he snapped.

            “I,” Fiola glanced around nervously, beginning to fidget with the silicone pendant around her neck. “I think that the best idea would be to act subtly. From the looks of these documents, it seems that the De’elsians have no allies among the delegates, we could easily alert the others by word of mouth – that way the messages are untraceable. We can agree to do something like pull out of the talks for a brief recess, go home, and stock up for whatever inevitable attack they have planned. No muss, no fuss.”

            “That seems to make the most sense, logically,” Orkah agreed, looking to Zarkon for confirmation. “Ilbe?”

            Zarkon looked away, working his jaw tersely. “Inform the other representatives of what we have found. Everyone will speak with the delegates of their respective planet.”

            He turned to fix his gaze on Serro, “And do _only_ that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I've been dying to post the diary bits since I wrote them back in November~ what do you all think of the previous generation of paladins? And how did Serro's diary end up in Keith's room? 
> 
> Guess you'll have to find out next week! Until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you all so much for your kudos and kind words of support <3 We're hard at work on the next installment of the story and can't wait to share it with you!


	10. Nexus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Slut shaming, verbal abuse, physical abuse.

The day faded into night, Serro having returned from her assignment to alert King Alfor, Princess Allura, and the other delegate from Altea of the looming betrayal. As such, she had resumed her house arrest and was currently in repose on the couch, mindlessly jogging a leg. About now, King Alfor would be proposing the recess at the meeting – and Serro could only wait for the outcome.

            The Altean woman twisted her hands in the fabric of her top, bitterly recounting the events of the other night. Thace was disappointed in her – and chances were, she’d never see him again after the aborted summit. She knew it was selfish to fret about this over the looming attack, but something kept drawing her mind back to the look on his face. Had he thought she was just spouting bullshit about “doing the right thing” to get with him? The thought curled her stomach into tight spirals of anxiety. It had been a long while since Serro had felt genuine attraction primarily based on personality and moral code, rather than strictly aesthetics. Probably never, in fact.

            ‘ _I guess I’m just that shallow_ ,’ she snorted to herself, rolling over to bury her face in the throw pillows.

            Serro was jolted out of her wallowing by the wicked sound of breaking glass and a high-pitched scream. Immediately she was on her feet, seeking out her bayard. She found it in her room alongside her armor, picking up her helmet as the internal light blinked with an incoming call.

            “Serro,” she responded immediately, sliding the helmet on. She grasped for her chest plate, sliding it over her civilian clothes.

            “Keep your helmet on,” Zarkon spoke over the comms without missing a beat. “Engage the face shield, gas has been released into the meeting halls.”

            Serro’s heart skipped a beat as she did as she was bid, “Is it toxic?”

            “No, it’ll just knock ‘em out,” Fiola cut in. “Get your bayard and meet us in the hangar, there’s no time.”

            Serro fumbled a vambrace, hardly able to clip it on before she headed for the door. “What’s happening?”

            “Remember how we thought the attack was confined to the summit? It wasn’t,” Fiola panted into her receiver. “Altea’s under attack. We need Voltron.”

            “Altea?!” Serro’s pulse was squeezing her throat. “But what about—.”

            “Get to your Lion,” Zarkon cut her off. Serro swore, tearing down the hallways to where the entrance to the sky bridge and her team were. Orkah had already activated his bayard, the massive axe burning slicing strokes onto the heavy steel door’s hinges. It fell away a moment later, the paladins clamoring into the hangar and heading for their vessels.

            “Wait!” Serro shouted. “What about the people here? Shouldn’t one of us stay to protect them?”

            Zarkon spun on his heel, grabbed Serro by the back of the neck, and dragged her towards Misty. The Lion roared at his approach before succumbing to a wave of his hand, crouching down in his presence.

            “You are to do as you’re told,” he demanded, shoving her into the Lion’s mouth. “The majority of the officials have escaped; the rest can fend for themselves.”

            “But we’re supposed to help any of those in need of our aid,” Serro argued, turning and attempting to charge Zarkon.

            “Are you so selfish that the lives of several officials are truly more valuable than the entirety of your home planet?” Zarkon sniffed, blocking her path. Serro stopped short, taking an anxious step backwards. The black paladin stepped close to her, speaking low enough so that only she could hear. “I know _exactly_ who you’re thinking of. If you choose to stay here, then you’re truly guided only by your den.”

            “ _Zarkon_!” Orkah yelled. “Hurry!”

            Serro took another step back, as if she had been struck. Zarkon gave her one last look, his face painted with smug satisfaction.

            “Serro, hurry up!” Fiola shouted, shaking the blue paladin from her moment of shock.

            Serro bolted into the cockpit, attempting to fight down tears as she struggled to clip into her seat.

            “I will open a wormhole for you, paladins,” a familiar voice crept over the line.

            “Thank you, Haggar,” Zarkon responded. “Remain on Pence’s moon until our mission is complete.”

            “Of course.”

            ‘ _Oh, so he evacuates his flunky, but not anyone else,_ ’ Serro thought bitterly, bowing her head and squeezing the thrusters. Beneath her hands, they glowed warm, rocking on their own. “Misty?”

            Serro felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end, the Blue Lion’s intent creeping up her spine and into her brain. Misty produced a low purr, standing on its own and sprinting out of the hangar.

            ‘ _You know they can’t form Voltron without me, right?_ ’ Serro thought to her lion as it charged through the sky towards the opening wormhole. The craft’s acceptance pushed against her, like a gal’stara rubbing against her leg. Behind her, a slot opened in the floor. Serro glanced to see it was the emergency evacuation port that led into the lion’s leg. Next to it, a portion of the wall slid open as well, revealing the handheld space scooter stored for emergency evacuation.

            “If you insist,” she smiled, petting the dash lovingly. She stood, grabbing hold of the scooter and jumping down the empty length of the lion’s limb. Serro promptly activated the pressurized temp control on her helmet so that she wouldn’t be crushed by the freezing expanse of space once the hatch opened. Activating the door controls, she started up the scooter and blasters on the back of her chest piece and leapt into space. Glancing over her shoulder, the blue paladin watched as Misty followed the other lions into the wormhole, feeling her heart skip a beat as it closed.

            “No turning back now,” she whispered to herself, knowing that even if the lack of her presence was discovered, it would be hours before Haggar had enough energy to open another wormhole. Serro immediately switched off the comms as she traveled back down towards the planet, letting the scooter pull her in the correct direction of the meeting halls. She steered to just outside the perimeter, landing safely on the ground and stashing the scooter in a bush.

            “Nailed it,” she said softly, stripping off her armor and kicking it under the shrub as well.

            “Okay, here goes,” Serro said to herself, taking a deep breath and willing herself to concentrate. Thankfully, her civilian clothes were made of the Altean standard fabric and shrunk alongside her as she adopted the form of an O’shetal. The white flowers and skin she chose melted seamlessly into the thin cover of white snow on the ground, allowing her to fade away from the meeting halls’ security system. Staying close to the walls and ground, Serro edged closer, spotting a high window. Hopefully the gas should have aired out by that point, but just in case—

            The second transformation was much harder than the first, which had already drained a good amount of Serro’s energy. The lizardlike skin of a Stellite immediately took on the hue of the wall she pressed against. Sticking out her tongue, she tasted the air, breathing through the spongy material. Serro cursed her oversight – it would have been perfect to have used this form from the get go.

            However, it was too late and Serro needed to act quickly. Using her new height, she holstered herself up onto the window’s ledge before willing the transformation to fade, save for the breathable tongue.

            “Okay,” Serro whispered, activating her bayard. She held the blue sword aloft, tilting it so that just the tip touched the glass before she proceeded to cut. Now unable to fully transform herself, she willed the tips of her fingers into sticky pods, gripping the glass when the cut was halfway through and completing the job. Delicately, she lowered the glass onto the snow below, wincing as she let it drop from her fingers, and sighing in relief when it touched down on the powder with a soft _whump_. She banished her bayard’s activated form, clipping it to her side.

            Shaking, she stuck a leg through the window, bracing her foot on the inside ledge. Careful not to touch the sharp edges of the hole she’d cut, she urged herself through, sighing in relief when she was fully in the building. Tasting the air once more, she determined that the gas had dissipated and she rid of the tongue. Sitting on the ledge, Serro dropped to the floor of the darkened room as quietly as she could, eyes shifting into nocturnal Galra ones.

            Before Serro had the chance to observe her environment, a warm body pressed into her back, a hand clamping over her mouth.

             “ _Mmph!”_ she cried into the warm palm, attempting to twist herself out of the assailant’s grasp.

“Serro, it’s me,” they said in a whisper. They held her fast, but gently, turning her around to face them. Serro banished the Galra eyes as she relaxed.

            “Mmth?”

            Thace smiled, dropping his hand from around her mouth and releasing Serro, “I’m sorry for grabbing you – I didn’t want you to shout.”

            “It’s okay, it was a good call,” Serro replied lowly, glancing around the room. “I’m happy to see you, are you alright?”

            “I’m still a little disoriented from the gas, but I’m fine,” Thace responded, touching his temple as if to indicate the fading dizziness.

            “How did you get away? Who all is being held here?” Serro asked in quick succession, looking Thace over for injuries. 

            “I was able to stay conscious just long enough to get in here,” he gestured to the room around them, which Serro took a moment to observe. It appeared to be a pantry, the walls stocked high with canned preserves and bags of gruel – the door appeared to have an airtight seal, and Thace had locked it from the inside.

            “That’s clever, I don’t think anyone would have expected you to hide in a kitchen,” she commented, a little more than mildly impressed.

            “Thank you,” Thace responded briefly before continuing to answer her questions. “I’m not sure how many of us there are right now – I’m only certain of Councilwoman Myla and The First Gentleman Gor being hostages. Myla was grabbed by Aquelle when King Alfor proposed the recess and Gor was knocked out trying to free her.”

            Serro nodded, raising her eyes to study a little air vent, a plan beginning to form in her mind, “What do we have by way of weapons?”

            Thace reached into a holster on his thigh and produced a pair of matching blades. Serro let her eyes linger there for just a moment longer, before looking down at them studiously.

            “Okay. Well, that’s better than nothing. Can you throw these?” she inquired.

            “I’d prefer not to,” Thace frowned. “But if it is absolutely necessary, yes. I can do so.”

            “Perfect,” Serro grinned. “Is there a camera in the kitchen?”

            “I couldn’t see one, but there’s definitely one in the hall,” Thace responded.

            “Can you hit it with a knife?”

            “I should be able to.”

            “Okay,” the Altean rubbed her palms together. “Did you see any other cameras between here and the guest quarters? Cebas swept for and deactivated any sort of cameras he found there.”

            “I don’t believe I saw any,” he replied. “But I can’t be certain.”

            “That’s okay, just hit any you see,” Serro advised.

            “I only have two shots,” Thace said anxiously. “I can’t exactly climb up and pull them out of the wall if they stick.”

            “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Serro sighed. “If we get caught, I can take out anyone who gets in our way.”

            She grinned and patted her bayard in a predatory way. Thace’s ears lowered, but Serro could have sworn she saw his cheeks darken.

            “Right,” she nodded. “Let’s go into the kitchen; be prepared to hit anyone waiting for us in there or the hall. I’ll lead.”

            Thace nodded in turn, standing behind Serro as she disengaged the lock and pushed open the airtight door with a hiss, readying her bayard and scanning the kitchen around them. Spotting no one, she advanced, gesturing for Thace to follow. He kept close on her heels as they moved silently across the room, pressing to either side of the swinging doors.

            “You go first,” Serro whispered, jerking her head towards the hallway. Thace nodded, rising up just slightly enough to glance out of the circular window in the swinging doors. In one fluid motion, he leaned into the door, reaching back with his right hand and throwing his knife. A sizzle of blue-white electricity sparked through the door windows and he glanced back at Serro triumphantly.

            “Brilliant,” she praised. “Let’s go ahead.”

            Thankfully, Thace had tossed the knife in an arc, clipping and disabling the camera at its summit. He gathered up his knife from the floor, keeping it ready and he flanked Serro. They quickly advanced down the hallway, Serro thankful for the carpeting that kept their footsteps to dull thuds. A noise caught her ear and, grabbing Thace’s shoulder, she pulled him aside into an alcove displaying a grandiose vase.

A pair of De’elsians trudged down the hallway, the aquiline people talking in low tones about the broken camera. Serro nudged Thace and gestured towards him, raising her fists beside her head and swinging them forward. Catching her drift, the Galra did as he was bid, throwing his knives in tandem. They hit with deadly accuracy, the white hot tips of the blade giving of tiny jolts of electricity that left their foes twitching on the floor.

“ _Nice_ ,” Serro grinned as the prince retrieved his arms and they continued their advance. “Is that what they teach you lot in prince school?”

“Prince school?” Thace echoed with a chuckle as they approached the guest quarters. “I don’t believe there’s such a thing.”

            “Then where’d you learn that?” Serro asked, retrieving a key from her pocket and ushering him in to Team Voltron’s suite.

            “You really think I wouldn’t prepare myself for a situation like this?” he asked, quirking a brow. Serro grinned and grabbed hold of the couch, beginning to drag it towards the entrance. Thace joined her, pushing on the other side of the furniture and effectively blocking the door.

            “What’s the plan?” he asked as Serro threw open the door to Fiola’s room. The Galra followed her in, eyes clouding in bewilderment as Serro approached a little cage, reaching in to gather up something inside. “What’s that?”

            “This,” Serro smiled, turning towards Thace and presenting him with the cup of her palm. “Is Noodle!”

            “…it’s a mouse,” he said a little flatly, cocking his head. The sour-faced animal glared up at him, sticking out its tongue. Serro tapped him chidingly on the head.

            “Be nice!” she reprimanded before grinning at Thace. “Not just any mouse, but a _space_ mouse! They’re incredibly intelligent little creatures – Fiola raised them by hand.”

            Thace glanced over to the cage, looking down at the four other mice within: a sweet-faced pink one, a sleepy big yellow one, a tiny green one, and finally a rugged-looking purple mouse sulking in the corner.

            “Are they…?”

            “Yeah, she picked them out to match us,” Serro explained, stepping up on the desk pressed up against the wall and resting Noodle on her shoulder. She rolled up onto the tips of her toes to inspect the air vent before her. “We got to name them, too. Yellow is Buttercup, green’s Vini, purple is Licorice, and pink is uh…” she faltered, removing the grating. “Snack.”

            “Snack,” Thace echoed blankly.

            “Orkah has a very dark sense of humor,” Serro explained, setting noodle up in the open vent. She knelt back down and reached into the cage, extracting the other mice and placing them up there as well. “Can you scope the meeting halls out for us and let us know where the hostages and De’elsians are?”

            The pastel mice all nodded in tandem – accept for Licorice, who turned up his nose and began to pout.

            “You’re insufferable,” Serro mumbled, dropping down to one knee and pulling a dried chunk of cheese out of a bag next to the cage. She handed it to Licorice, who eyed the offering dubiously. “There’s more where that came from if you help out.”

            The mouse glared at Serro for a solid five seconds before tugging the cheese from her fingers and bolting. The four others dashed after him, disappearing into the vent. Serro climbed down from the desk and stood next to Thace, grinning triumphantly.

            “Clever idea,” he praised, settling himself down onto the bed. Serro hopped up beside him folding her knees up to her chin. “What do we do now?”

            “Wait,” Serro responded, voice muffled in her knees. “When the mice get back, I can use the map of the halls on Fiola’s tablet to have them draw out the positions.”

            Thace nodded, folding his hands in his lap and rubbing his thumb over the rise of his knuckles. They lapsed into an awkward silence, Serro glancing away as she recalled their last meeting several days prior.

            “I…” she started softly, immediately drawing his gaze. Serro blushed, resisting the urge to bury her face between her knees and groan. “I’m sorry for disappointing you the other day. I should have told you I’m a criminal, I just…” she trailed off, propping her forehead up against her knees, “I just wanted you to think well of me.”

            “Disappointed?” Thace echoed, cocking his head to the side. “Serro, I wasn’t disappointed in you at all.”

            Serro started, glancing up at the prince with wide, blue eyes. His expression grew gentle and he reached out to touch her shoulder.

“I was surprised, yes, but I wasn’t disappointed in you. In fact, I disappointed in the other paladins for the way they treated you,” his face grew serious. “Especially Zarkon. As a representative of Gal, he has no right to treat his teammate that way. You shouldn’t be treated like a criminal, Serro – you’re a hero.”

The pounding of Serro’s pulse in her ears was deafening, and judging by the heat on her cheeks and the way Thace kindly laughed, she was sure that her markings could’ve lit up the room.

“A hero?” she laughed in disbelief. “Me? No, I’m a country girl who took a fighter for a joyride and got dragged into a flying lion – I’m not a hero.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Thace squeezed her shoulder gently. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Serro said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It was the right thing to do.”

Thace turned fully towards Serro, raising his other hand. He hesitated, looking for permission to touch her. Serro nodded and he cupped her cheek, smoothing his thumb over one of her markings.

“That’s why I think you’re a hero,” he smiled, leaning his head towards her so that their foreheads touched. Serro could actually see the patches of light break out of his cheeks, a dim reflection of her glowing markings. She closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her lips, leaning slightly forward in encouragement to close the distance.

But the mice had other plans, banging on the vent noisily to get their attention. Serro yipped and pulled away from Thace, whose hair and ears proceeded to fluff up like a gal’stara’s in shock. The Altean immediately smothered a laugh in the cup of her hands as Thace blushed and hastily attempted to smooth the fluff down.

“I’m so sorry,” she giggled. “I didn’t know you did that!”

“It’s – ah. Its fine,” Thace mumbled, completely embarrassed. Sending him one last cheeky glance, Serro stood up from the bed and climbed up onto the desk, gathering up the mice in her hands and setting them down next to Fiola’s tablet. Licorice activated it, bringing up a map of the meeting halls. The mice scurried around the surface, pressing their paws into it and drawing up little diagrams.

Once they pulled back, a clear view of their situation was displayed, De’elsians were represented in red, the movements of their paths dictated with little arrows. Hostages were shown in green, four little dots gathered in the center of the largest meeting room.

“Okay,” Serro whispered, turning to Thace with a bright expression, “Welp, time to turn ourselves in.”

The prince shook his head, completely taken aback, “Excuse me?! You’re giving up?”

“Pshaw,” she rolled her eyes, fanning away the notion with a flap of her hand. “No way, I’d rather they just took us to the hostages instead of sneaking about with all these guards.”

“But what if they take our weapons?” Thace inquired. Serro shrugged.

“We leave them here,” she explained, unclipping her bayard and proceeding to shove it under the mattress. Thace mimicked the action with his knives, turning to Serro with a perplexed expression.

“So,” he began. “What’s the plan?”

* * *

Queen Buteao and Prince Aquelle – the representatives of De’elsis – were situated comfortably in the main meeting hall, surveying their captives with listless expressions. The doors swung open, two guards hauling in their newest prisoners.

“I wasn’t expecting you to surrender so easily,” Queen Buteao commented softly as Serro and Thace were marched towards her, hands bound before them by the wrists. In the center of the room, Councilwoman Myla was still passed out on the floor, bound and gagged. Beside her was the manacled form of The First Gentleman of Stell, Gor – he was bleeding steadily from a gash in his forehead, eyes looking unfocused. A swell of dark robes was on the ground beside him – The Mother of Constellations.

Behind the queen, her consort Prince Aquelle was frowning down at the deceased form of the Mother of Constellations Mugenleb, nudging her purposefully with his toe.

            “When did I kill _her_?” he mumbled to himself.

            Beside Serro, Thace stiffened a tremor of anger and grief coursing down his limbs. Serro winced, wishing she could somehow convey her pity in the tense situation. However, her attention was drawn back to Buteao, who was settling herself into a plush seat.

            “Hush, sweetness,” the queen told her consort gently, reaching up to preen at the ruff of feathers around her neck. She toyed with a massive flower bulb in her other palm – the reduced form of an O’Shetal that had been badly injured. “I suppose you’ve come here to negotiate?”

            “I’m smart enough to realize when I’m outmatched,” Serro confessed sadly. The Queen nodded in understanding, pocketing the O’Shetal bulb.

            “That’s good to hear – despite what Zarkon says, you’re a smart girl,” Buteao complemented Serro, leaning her forearms onto her knees. Serro’s hands tightened into fists – behind her, one of the De’elsian guards pressed roughly on her shoulder, driving her to her knees. Thace lowered himself to the ground before the guard could do it for him.

            “A paladin of Voltron will be worth at least a planet,” mused Prince Aquelle, pacing in a slow circle around the pair. “I think it’s an added bonus that they won’t be able to form the damn thing.”

            “Mm,” Buteao shook her head. “I think it would be better to kill her now, though – it’ll certainly give us a leg up in the coming battles. A prince of Gal will be worth enough.”

            “But he’s not even a _crown_ prince—.”

            Aquelle’s quip was cut off as the guard behind Serro crowed in pain, body seizing as she used her transformative ability to summon a defensive quill from between her shoulder blades, impaling him through the gut. Quickly, Serro stood, raised a knee, and slammed her wrists down onto it, breaking the ties. Thace repeated the motion as Serro snapped off the quill with a wince, shoving it into his hands.

            The Queen stood, nearly knocking the prince over as she attempted to vault over the arm of the chair, but Serro had already pounced her, nails sharpening into thick talons as she held the matriarch by the neck. Prince Aquelle reached onto his side, groping for his blaster in his discombobulated state, but Thace was faster. Gripping the De’elsian around the neck, the Galra shoved the deadly point of the quill up against the hollow of his throat, causing the other man to go still in horror.

            “You know, it’s _pretty_ bad form to just put _one guard_ in the room with you, even if you’re sure you won the day,” Serro mused, pressing down on the Queen’s windpipe purposefully. “What’s that Coran always says about this move? Oh yeah – _sleepy time_.”

            With a swift movement from Serro, the queen was unconscious. Thace smirked as Serro stood, brushing imaginary dust off of her knees and approaching The First Gentleman of Stell.

            “You’ll have to show me that move sometime,” he mused. “I’m sure it’ll come in handy.”

            “No kidding – thank you, sir,” she hummed to the official, using one of the talons to break the ropes on his wrists and seeing to the queen, rolling her over and trussing her forearms properly. “Honestly, who’s stupid enough to zip tie someone’s wrists in front?”

            “Especially someone who’s _offered_ their hands to be tied in the front,” Thace grinned, giving Prince Aquelle a purposeful jerk as he attempted to squirm away. “No you don’t.”

            Serro turned to the unconscious councilwoman, removing her bindings as well and turning to Thace.

            “See, it’s all about finding the right pressure points,” she explained as Thace gripped the prince’s hair, tilting his neck back for Serro’s ease of access. “My, what a gentleman!” she produced a cheeky grin and demonstrated the motions on the squirming De’elsian, handing the ropes off to Thace before turning to the barely-stirring Queen.

            “I suppose I should plant this in the atrium,” Serro mused, removing the bulb from Buteao’s pocket. As Serro stood, she stumbled in place, the sudden shift making her vision blur out white amongst the edges. “Fiola should know how to take care of it…”

            “Serro?” Thace asked, concern lacing his features and tone as he settled Aquelle onto the floor beside his wife.

            “No, nope I’m good,” Serro mumbled, attempting to right herself as she approached the hostages. Thace immediately steadied her shoulders, which was very nice. “Just gotta help these people out and I can—.”

            The toll of the frequent transformations finally made itself known as Serro slumped onto Thace’s chest, which was even nicer. Serro giggled deliriously, “You have an _amazing_ set of pectorals, Honorable Prince Thace.”

            “I—well, thank you,” the prince said, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “Here, let’s lay you down.”

            “You know, you are the number one person I wanted to hear that from,” Serro grinned, eyes sliding shut. She heard Thace bark out a disbelieving laugh, squeezing her arm gently.

            “I’ll keep that in mind for later,” he said– his words were mostly supplicating, but carried a sort of devious flirtation to them that made the blue paladin’s discombobulated mind whirl.

            “ _Yessss_ ,” she hissed in triumph, pumping a fist in the air before it fell bodily to her side. “I’m just going to… be over here… you know…”

            “Mm hmm,” Thace hummed, petting her bangs out of her eyes.

            “Nighty night.”

            “Rest well, Serro.”

* * *

Consciousness came to Serro like a crack of lightning, pain lancing through her throat as she was gripped there purposefully and dragged to her knees. Her eyes snapped open as she attempted to cry out in pain, the breath dying in her throat as the black paladin’s hand tightened around her neck. His eyes were livid, face contorted into a snarl and ears pressed back against his head. The fur on his ruff stood up in jagged clumps, making him appear wild.

            “You impudent _cunt!”_ he spat, squeezing Serro’s windpipe as she scratched helplessly at his fingers. Noticing her attempts, he threw her to the floor, still gripping her throat. “I don’t think so.”

            Shifting his weight, he straddled her, pressing down on her throat with all his weight. Serro made a pathetic noise, sharp lashes breaking out amongst the length of her throat as each attempt at a swallow burned.

            “ _You selfish little ylchaal_ ,” Zarkon continued, giving her a violent shake.

            Her vision broke out in white spots like film burning away, his snarling face dotted out. In a last-ditch effort, Serro extended her hand, fingertips weakly brushing over his chest before her hand fell limp at her side.

            ‘ _Please_ ,’ she thought to him as unconsciousness began to take her again.  There was a rough scoff from above her and Zarkon finally released Serro’s throat. She sucked in a rasping breath, turning to her side and clutching at her breastbone while she shook with violent coughs, filling her leaden lungs with air.

            “You need to understand your place Serro,” Zarkon said as he stood, his back facing Serro’s crumpled form. “Know where you belong.”

            Serro didn’t reply, merely whimpering as she curled into herself and continued to breathe. She heard him leave the room with a slam of the door and she closed her eyes, shaking in relief. Soon after, the door swung open again, softer footsteps rushing in to her side.

            “Serro!” Orkah cried, dropping to the paladin’s side and cradling her in his arms. “Are you well? What happened?”

            The blue paladin glanced around, realizing that she’d been taken to her quarters, “Fell outta bed.”

            The red paladin touched her throat, eyes widening at the dark spots already forming there, “Who’s done this?”

            “The,” Serro coughed. “The Prince of De’elsis.”

            Orkah’s face flashed with fury, “I’ll see him dead for this.”

            “No, no, I’m okay,” Serro patted at his chest weakly. “Comes with the job. Is Altea okay?”

            “I don’t know about the entirety of Altea, I’m sure it still has its share of socioeconomic problems,” Orkah began, attempting to shake the fury from his tone. “But we were able to stave off the attack, yes.”

            “Oh thank God,” Serro’s head fell back against the cradle of his arms, and she began to pant in relief. “From the way Zarkon was talking, I thought—.”

            Orkah shook his head, “It was a perfect success. We were able to intercept the majority of the fleet and take them out while Fiola and Cebas dealt with those who’d already arrived on Altea.”

            Serro nodded in reply, releasing a weak laugh, “I’m so sorry for bailing on you – I’m completely quiznak’d, aren’t I?”

            To her surprise, Orkah smiled, “Of course not. Why would we punish the paladin who so bravely offered to stay behind and rescue the hostages? King Alfor was so impressed by your actions that he’s considering ending your parole early.”

            Serro laughed in disbelief, the end of the chuckle catching on a violent cough. Orkah held her upright, patting her back.

            “Orkah you sneaky bastard, how’d you pull this one off?” the Altean grinned at her friend, who shrugged.

            “It is a great advantage being in bed with the leader of Team Voltron,” he said listlessly, humor as dry as ever. “Not to mention, both Cebas and Fiola were in agreement with your actions. My ilbe couldn’t very well pitch a fit when you had all three of us vouching for you – well, the four of us.”

            “You’re too kind to me,” Serro felt her cheeks sting with the strain of her smile. “Really, you all are – wait, four?”

            “The Prince of Central Gal may have had a large part in swaying the King,” Orkah explained, helping to bring Serro to her feet. “He’s spoken very highly of you since the moment we returned – I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hatchling so smitten.”

            “Oh my God shut up,” Serro covered her face, although she was grinning in joy. She dropped back down onto her bed, straightening as she heard a knock on her door.

            “Speak of the devil,” Orkah hummed, turning to answer it. “I’m sorry, but the blue paladin is completely indisposed and wishes to never see you again.”

            “ _Orkah_!” Serro hissed, craning her neck to see Thace standing beyond the red paladin, ears drooping. “Ignore him, Thace. You can come in.”

            The red paladin stepped out of the way for the Galra, allowing the prince entrance before Orkah left the room, closing the door behind him.

            “Serro,” Thace smiled, a look of genuine relief crossing his kind face. He leaned down towards the blue paladin, drawing her into a tight embrace. Serro returned it as best she could, patting the mattress beside her. Thace took the offer and settled down there, folding one leg under himself.

            “I heard you had some nice things to say about me,” Serro began, grinning at the shy blush that crossed Thace’s features. “It was really kind of you to vouch for me.”

            “How could I not?” Thace smiled, dropping one of his hands over hers. “Serro, you were absolutely brilliant – I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hostage situation handled so effortlessly.”

            “I mean I passed out at the end, which was pretty embarrassing,” she mused, lacing their fingers together as subtly as she could. “But yeah, I’m still pretty amazing, aren’t I?”

            Thace laughed, his expression softer than Serro had recalled seeing it since they’d met.

            “I mean,” Serro hedged, scooting closer to the prince so that their thighs were touching. She leaned her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

            “Yes,” Thace nodded, turning towards her. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

            “Soooo,” Serro tilted her head to the side, reaching up to tap Thace’s collarbone. “You want to make this ‘team’ a thing?”

            She peered up at him through her bangs, smiling cheekily as Thace returned her glance fondly.

            “I’d have to say that sounds appealing,” he mused, squeezing her hand. “We ought to stay in contact – I’d really like to take you somewhere nice sometime.”

            “I would love that,” she smiled, heart leaping. Cupping his face in her hand, she leaned up to his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

* * *

The diary entry ended there, the next one seemingly devoted to detailing a training detour to the Karthulian system and an epic bar fight. Snapping the plastic back into place, the projection blinked out of existence, Lo tucking it back into the textbook and setting it aside. The prince stood and walked into the dining room, beginning to pick at his cold breakfast, deep in thought.

Something felt off about what he read.

Idly, he wondered what had happened to his father’s lover Orkah, glancing up to the cross-stich portrait that loomed above the dining table. In both the portrait and real life, Zarkon perfectly matched the description that had been given to the Stellite – while the emperor had been described as having been furred with ears like many of the other Galra. Like Lo.

He found his eyes drawn to the woman who sat so demurely beside the emperor, eyes glazed over and listless even in her effigy. But the blue markings beneath her eyes—

Lo touched the area where he knew he had a matching pair. The diary’s author – Serro – had described herself as having blue markings. As he realized this, it slowly dawned on Lo why he had found the portrait of the woman so striking when he had first seen it.

“We look exactly alike,” he admitted, eyes tracing the shape of her face.

The ylentma in the portrait, the author of the diary, the blue paladin of the past – they were all the same person.

‘ _My mother_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I know a lot of you were curious about Keith's mom, so I hope this clears up some questions! I know that a lot is still left up in the air, but I promise there will be more answers in the future. No spoilers, but I can promise you some Sheith content in the next chapter <3
> 
> Much love to you all! Thank you so much for your kudos and comments, they make our day!
> 
> ~Moosey


	11. Dread

Shiro awoke with a groan, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. Despite the Quintessence he had been given his body was sore, muscles strained and bruised from two nights of fighting for his life. The medicine was only superficial – at least in the amounts bestowed upon soldiers and gladiators – effecting injuries just enough to stop any bleeding and seal up the wounds leaving only faint marks of their presence. Still, he hadn’t even had a full night’s sleep what with the celebrations the evening before and his skin itched from the places he had been burned.

            “This is miserable,” he grumbled into his pillow, wishing for even one more hour of sleep. Nai trilled at him sympathetically, unfurling herself from her place beside his head and rubbing her cheek along his shoulder blade. Shiro sighed, following suit and glaring at the clock positioned beneath the television. He had slept in far later than he had intended – into the mid-afternoon – but with as fraught as his sleep had been with nightmares he was hardly rested.

            Shrugging off the covers he made for the kitchen, filling Nai’s bowl with the mysterious green pellets and rifling through the pantries for anything that wasn’t meat. Perhaps it was due to their catlike visage or maybe even the bloodthirstiness their society encouraged, but Shiro had quickly discovered that a large majority of the Galra diet consisted of meat – sometimes raw. He pulled a face at the memory of the party’s spread: fancy steaks and thinly sliced cuts among more exotic offerings like hearts and brains. He didn’t relish the idea of having more.

            With reluctance he selected a packet of freeze dried food stuffs – what it was, exactly, he couldn’t be certain – and set about rehydrating it. He had received an e-mail directing him to order food for himself – and _only_ food – and it had shown up within the day.

            “That reminds me,” he murmured, taking his plate along with him as he returned to sit cross legged on the bed, flipping the television on to check his mail. Sure enough, two memos had come in, flagging the messages tab in red. The first caught his eye at once, written hastily in Galran:

_Shiro,_

_Something’s come up with my dad and I don’t know when I’ll see you and the prince next, if ever. The Empire is getting nervous and I think you know why. I can’t say much but you best be prepared for what’s to follow._

_Keep on protecting Lo. Be careful._

_Cora_

            Shiro reread the message twice more, a growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t entirely certain what the handmaiden was getting at but he sensed it had to do with Keith’s resurging memories and the movements of the separatists.

            “I’d ‘best be prepared’, huh?” he murmured to himself. “Something tells me she knows exactly what’s going to be waiting for me at the match tonight.”

            The thought sat with him uneasily, the memories of the previous fight too fresh in his mind. He didn’t want to think of them any more for the pain it caused him, but he couldn’t shake the false Matt’s accusations from his conscience. He had been right, after all: Shiro had done nothing to try and search for them, even when he’d gained the freedom to do so. Shiro couldn’t recall much of the time after the Coliseum, but the knowledge made him sick. Disregarding the other e-mail for the moment he drew open a new tab, ready to compose.

_Thace,_

_I know you’re busy with everything going on but I need to ask a favor of you. I don’t know if you saw last night’s match but my opponent was a Druid shadow of one of my best friends. He was taken aboard the Intrepid as a prisoner at the same time I was, along with his father. I have to know what became of them._

_Their names are Matthew Holt and Samuel Holt, though they go by Matt and Sam. I don’t know their designated numbers but I think Matt’s ended in 9876, one digit off from mine. He was originally a myzentma but I injured him so he could avoid the Coliseum. His father should be prentma. Please, anything you can find on them would be welcomed, even if it’s the worst case scenario. I have to know._

_Shiro_

            He hesitated a moment, unsure if it was the right thing to do. _‘No,’_ he decided, clicking the send button and watching the message fade from sight, _‘No matter the consequences I’ve got to know. If they’re still on the ship… if they’re still alive… then I’ve got to save them. I won’t be able to finish this mission without knowing.’_

            Heavy hearted, Shiro opened the final message, unsurprised to find it from Maray. As he expected, the e-mail detailed his schedule for the day and to his felicity he discovered that Keith had requested his company once again. He had sat with Keith in the alcove a long time, hands loosely clasped as their conversation turned light, simply delighting in one another’s company. It felt natural, not unlike their days at the Garrison, and Shiro could feel the faint blushes of affection radiating from his boyfriend. He was eager to see him again.

            Shutting off the TV he made to dress quickly, tugging on the now-familiar maroon uniform and clipping close his boots. Ruffling Nai’s head in parting he headed out for the City Station, banking left passed the shopping mall and towards the arena. He bristled as he grew near, unable to shake the fear that he would be trapped within. It didn’t help that the prison orbited the Coliseum, but Shiro was left with no choice as the stadium served as the connection between the First and Second Rings.

            Steeling himself he headed inside the dome, navigating through the vendors that crowded the civilian section of the arena with his eyes downcast. No doubt he would be recognized, his face already plastered over large banners. He wasn’t entirely certain if they were new or not, his reputation having lingered far after he was named the Grand Champion. Finally emerging in the Entertainment District, Shiro stopped to get his bearings.

            Maray had directed him to meet up with Keith and his entourage at the far end of the fairgrounds for something he called “Vlippendho racing”, which sounded dubious enough as it was. Taking a minute to translate the signage, Shiro headed passed the theatre in the direction they had taken to the Ossuary. The fairgrounds were easy to spot – in full swing without the threat of the separatist’s attack – and Shiro steadily navigated his way through the crowds, making for the white tent-like building that housed the racetrack.

            The track itself was barren of any clues of what to expect, the crowds around the perimeter chattering excitedly and bedecked in differently colored gear. _‘Apparently this has a large following,’_ Shiro surmised, taking note of the vibrant banners hung over the track, each bearing a different kind of crest.

            He located the private box quickly, taking the steps to it two at a time. The Royal Guard permitted him entrance without question and he slipped inside, immediately disappointed to find Zarkon seated front and center. Haggar sat to one side of him, Keith to the other, a furred, sweet-looking girl standing nervously beside the prince.

 _‘Must be Cora’s replacement,’_ Shiro realized as he edged awkwardly around the emperor to get to Keith. Zarkon watched him with mild amusement, clearly enjoying his discomfort. Shiro fought the urge to glare.

            Keith greeted him softly, eagerly indicating for Shiro to take the plush chair beside him, practically reclining towards the other paladin. Shiro warmed, charmed by his boyfriend’s affectionate nature and pressed himself as close to Keith as he dared, praying that Zarkon would think little of it. It was becoming increasingly apparent, after all, that Keith was developing feelings for Shiro anew and despite the dangers of their situation, Shiro just didn’t have it in him to reject Keith’s shy advances.

            Shiro settled into his seat, arms placed comfortably on the rests, muffling his surprise when Keith surreptitiously reached out and entwined their hands, hiding the evidence under the voluminous sheer of his sleeve. He looked the most gorgeous Shiro had ever seen him, his traditional flight suit – grey this time – covered by a gauzy white dress embroidered with little blossoms and twigs. He was crowned with his most ornate headpiece yet, trails of pink pearls descending from an ornate silver tiara, a myriad of pink and white flowers settled just beneath the curvature of his ears. He looked a modern day Persephone: a delicate exterior belying a dangerous force within.

            Shiro squeezed his hand gently, leaning over to talk without risk of being overheard. “Cora’s gone,” he prompted, looking to Keith for answer. The prince nodded without looking to him, the set of his lips suggesting he was equally worried.

            “She left me a note,” he whispered back.

            “Me, as well,” Shiro confirmed. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it and wondered all the more how his boyfriend had interpreted her words, still under the thrall of the fugue. He knew better than to press further with the emperor and the Mother of Constellations so close, proverbially backed into a corner by their presence.

            “How are you doing?” Keith asked, surveying his boyfriend concernedly.

            “Better than last night,” Shiro assured him, “And improving throughout the day, I imagine. The Quintessence is still working through my system. I should be healed over by tonight’s match.”

 _‘I hope,’_ he added grimly to himself.

            “Do you know what we’re here for?” Keith suddenly asked, frowning about at the stadium.

            Shiro smiled, knowing full well that Keith had once again tuned out his morning schedule. “Maray called in ‘Vlippendho racing’,” he recited carefully.

            “What the shit is a ‘Vlippendho’?” Keith snorted.

            A Vlippendho, it turned out, was a giant snail-like creature completely engulfed in flame. They oozed slowly to the starting line, their multitude eyes staring about in different directions. Each was lit in a different color: six variations in all. Behind the Vlippendhos were Druids robed in correspondence to their snail, pacing anxiously in place as if about to take off themselves.

            “Is this for real?” Keith snickered, inclining towards Shiro.

            A siren sounded, an announcer coming over the PA: “It’s time for Vl-Vl-Vl-Vlippendho racing!” he cheered, serenaded by a cacophony of what could be air horns. The crowd went wild. Shiro shook his head in disbelief.

            “Yes,” he answered slowly. “This is completely for real.”

            The next several minutes were spent in rapturous attention, the crowds cheering and yelling as the snails advanced. It helped, of course, that they were spurred on by the magicks of their Druid trainer, some of which launched their Vlippendhos several feet into the air. The track became a dizzying area of color, exploding with traps and attacks, defensive shields erected only at the last minute. It was bizarre to say the least, but even Shiro had to admit he was fairly intrigued.

            Keith, meanwhile, was seized with a fit of giggles which he tried to keep suppressed behind his other palm, the scene before him too outlandish to take seriously. Beyond him Zarkon was perched eagerly in his seat, watching with baited anticipation as the Vlippendhos made their way to the finish line.

 _‘I keep learning things about him that I really didn’t want to know,’_ Shiro inwardly sighed. _‘Like that he enjoys dick jokes and sports involving fiery snails. Incredible.’_

            The race let out with a bang, the stadium deafening as the winner – an orange Vlippendho by the show name of Dirkblaster 9000 – took center stage, its respective Druid awarded with a comically large trophy. As the crowds began to disperse, the royal family made to rise, escorted out a private exit by the Royal Guard. They funneled into a small courtyard cordoned off from the rest of the fairgrounds, Zarkon and Haggar talking animatedly in hushed tones. Shiro sent them an aggrieved look, sticking close to Keith as he made a beeline for his attendant.

            “Alright Vespi,” he addressed, making her squeak, “What insane bullshit is planned for me next?”

            “W-well,” she started, looking over her tablet. “It appears the majority of today’s events will be held here in the fairgrounds,” she began, naming a laundry list of functions that Shiro couldn’t even hope to guess the meaning of if the Vlippendho races were anything to go off of. Keith nodded vaguely beside him, most likely equally lost, and followed after the fluffy attendant at his leisure.

            The grounds themselves were surprisingly pristine, buildings a brilliant shade of white metal, rimmed with small lights that twinkled even in the light of the fabricated afternoon sky. Everything was clean, trash immaculately swept from the paved streets, hedges of interesting hues lining the curling pathways. Fountains of varying size dotted the venue, dwarfed in comparison to the gilt statues that towered above the crowds. Keith drew before one, looking up at the golden visage of Zarkon with suspicion.

            “Do I have one of those?” he asked dubiously, casting about as if to find his answer.

            “Ah, no,” Vespi returned apologetically, “With as long as Your Majesty has been absent from the Empire, there has been no way to depict your image. That said, I am certain there will be numerous craftsmen eager to rectify this oversight.”

            “Oh, no,” Keith immediately dissuaded, flushing plum, “I’m good, no please.”

            Shiro huffed a laugh, amused by his boyfriend’s predictable behavior. He fell in step beside him, realizing that they had some time to themselves. It was hard not to feel like they were on a date – supervised as it was – what with the exciting atmosphere and the blossoming feelings Keith seemed to hold for him.

 _‘Not unlike the last time we were at a fair together,’_ he recalled fondly. They had both been excited to go, a weekend cleared of homework and drills with nothing but time and a few dollars to spend. Shiro had called them a cab, the both of them talking animatedly the whole way into the city. The fair itself was on the outskirts, huge and hosting a wide array of events. Animals, arts, food, wine: there were no shortages of things to do.

            Keith had been more adventurous than he had – which came as no surprise – dragging him to the rides that had only been installed for a month. Shiro tried to persuade him that they couldn’t possibly be safe and Keith had teased him for being scared, coaxing him until he agreed to go on the swings. It had been fun, the image of Keith laughing and bathed in sunlight ensconced in his mind forever.

            When the evening arrived they had meandered about the multicolored lights of the fairway games and food vendors, walking shoulder to shoulder and constantly on the brink of holding hands. He could still conjure up the memory of Keith’s determined face, the cute scrunching of his nose, as he tried to throw a series of darts and win a prize. He had failed, but only just, and it had made Shiro determined to win something for him. He had found a shooting alley instead, surprised at his own skill, finding it worth it when Keith hugged the teddy bear the whole ride home.

 _‘This feels like back then,’_ Shiro reminisced. _‘Even as you are, I hope you enjoy this. I swear to you I will give you all the time you deserve when this mission is complete. Take you to all your favorite places when we get home.’_

            He didn’t want to think about that sentiment being an ‘if’.

 _‘At the very least,’_ he reconsidered, _‘I’ll take you to the prettiest planet I can find.’_

            “What would you like to do?” Shiro asked aloud, turning to the prince. Keith thought a moment, biting absently at a lip as he surveyed the grounds.

            “What’s over there, in that glass building?” he asked curiously.

            Vespi clapped her hands together excitedly; the most upbeat Shiro had seen her. “That’s the arboretum,” she answered proudly. “It’s absolutely stunning, a technological marvel, really. There’s over two thousand different plants and trees inside, collected from all across the empire. I feel it isn’t appreciated much, what with the park in the Third Ring.”

            Keith gave a decisive nod. “Trees sound nice,” he settled, leading the way to the structure. The glass that housed it was thick, heavily fogged over from the humidity within. Shiro loosened the collar of his uniform as they stepped inside, instantly awed by the canopy of trees arching above them. They were unusual: some in shades of brilliant lavender and cyan, others with almost hexagonal leaves, more still with trunks that appeared feathered.

            “Whoa,” Keith hummed appreciatively, craning upwards to take them all in.

            “Indeed,” Vespi trilled pleasantly, pausing by a basket near the entrance. From it she selected three devices, handing the spares to her companions. “These are translation apparatuses that fit over the ear. Press here,” she motioned to a sleek little button, “In order to activate the recording. The translator will know where you are in the building to determine which audio to play. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.”

            “Thank you,” Shiro murmured, accepting the device and doing his best to clip it onto his ear, adjusting the soft wire so it didn’t pinch too badly. Despite its function, it was clear that the translator – like most other contrivances he had come across – was made for Galra use and for Galra use only, having to be repurposed to just barely accommodate a wider audience.

 _‘Typical,’_ he thought with distaste, _‘I’ve seen almost as many half-Galra as I have full and a handful of other races to boot. It would figure that a blood purist like Zarkon would only think of the needs of_ some _of his people. I have to wonder what made him so obsessed.’_

            Noticing Keith had already left the party, Shiro picked a path at random and strolled amongst the flora. Vespi trailed after him, stopping before each and every sign to listen to the information track. Admiring the vegetation about him he followed the trail until it branched, taking the nearest path so as to have some space to himself. This part of the arboretum ran along the far wall of the building, a staff entrance barely visible through a chokehold of vines.

 _‘Might as well enjoy myself,’_ he figured, selecting a plant at random and pressing the command on the translator. The flower was huge, extending beyond the breadth of his shoulders, arranged lotus-like as it extended skywards. Soft blots of yellow speckled the orangey petals, giving the appearance of a sun. There was a little chime and then the recording began to play.

            “The Mother’s Hands, or ‘Udinan Previtak’ as it is known in Galran, is a sun-dwelling perennial plant known for its –”

            Something caught Shiro’s attention, a distortion at the corner of his eye.

            “It is a sister flower to the Mother’s Kiss, or ‘Udinan Mussen’, which is its opposite, thriving in cold climates and blooming only –”

            A shush of leaves and Shiro was certain that someone was watching him, the footfalls too concealed to belong to either Vespi or Keith. Not wanting to alarm the others he held his ground, eyes fixated on the flower in front of him and pretending not to have noticed. The translator rattled on in chipper tones.

            “– a strong connection to Druidic culture, and thus was named in honor of the Mother of Constell– ”

            Shiro whirled around a moment too late, a sturdy hand clamped down over his mouth. He struggled, making to bite at the appendage, heart hammering in his chest. The attacker shushed him, leading him albeit bodily towards the service door, pressing him against the exit and encouraging him to calm down.

            Shiro braced against the door, angling to kick out when he suddenly realized who had accosted him. The Galra sighed in relief, slowly removing his hand and backing away apologetically.

            “Thace?” Shiro grunted, wiping at his mouth and minding to keep his voice low. “What the hell? What’s going on?”

            “Sorry,” Thace rubbed his neck. “I didn’t want to draw their attention or cause you to yell. By the stars, you’re a lot stronger than you look.”

            Shiro was by no means scrappy, but in comparison to the overall size and girth of the average Galra it was a mention worth being proud of. He smiled ruefully, accepting the compliment. “As glad as I am to see you I’m more than a little surprised,” he admitted, following the other man as he led them through the service door and into what appeared to be a high-tech toolshed.

            “I don’t doubt that,” Thace hummed, growing anxious once more. “You should know that it’s no secret what Keith’s agenda is from day to day: some way or another the agendas always get leaked and there ends up being a huge crowd. I imagine it’s an internal decision, what for good publicity and all.”

            “So I’ve noticed,” Shiro murmured, overturning an exceptionally large pot and sitting atop it. “I take it then that that’s how you knew where to find us?”

            “Precisely,” Thace nodded, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. “I did my best to blend in with the crowd and waited until I could get the chance to speak to you alone. Funny that you would end up here.”

            “Why’s that?” Shiro intoned.

            “I thought it would make a good meeting place for us in the future, away from prying eyes,” Thace explained, nodding to the arboretum outside. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there are no cameras to speak of in here and security is at a bare minimum. Guess the emperor isn’t afraid of anyone stealing trees.”

            Shiro sniffed a laugh, growing thoughtful. “I guess not; I like the sound of it, too. This place is fairly centrally located and from what Vespi says, doesn’t get a whole lot of traffic. Being in the fairgrounds it would be easy to go unnoticed – apparently it’s effective as I failed to realize you were so nearby.”

            “I’m glad that you agree,” Thace sighed. “I also wanted to tell you that I received your message from earlier today.”

            “Yes?” Shiro perked instantly, flooded with hope despite his worst fears.

            “I don’t have anything as of yet,” Thace warned, “And it may be hard to find out. I ran a search on the partial number you gave me and ended up with an entire roster of results; it will take me a while to work through them all. I can only dedicate so much time to looking, but I know this is important to you.”

            “Thank you, Thace,” Shiro returned at once, reaching out to touch the man lightly on the arm. “This really means the world to me.”

            “I know, kit,” Thace smiled, eyes crinkling. “I was able to get in touch with Lance; Hunk was there, too, so I entrust that they successfully relayed the information to the rest of the team,” he continued. “They took the news rather well, considering.”

            Shiro gave a chagrined snort. “So how jealous is Lance?”

            “I don’t know if ‘jealous’ is quite the right word,” Thace mused with a smile, “But he certainly is competitive. Concerned for the both of you.”

            “Lance is a good guy,” Shiro praised with a nod, “The entire team is made up of wonderful people.”

            “I hope you don’t exclude yourself from that consideration,” Thace murmured knowingly. Shiro cast away his gaze, thinking over all the unpleasant things he had come to discover about himself in the stretch of only a few days. Doubt roiled in his veins, evident in the way he gnawed his lip.

            “Thank you,” he offered weakly, eager to shift the older man’s attentions before his parenting senses were fully triggered. “Have they been up to anything?” he inquired swiftly. “Team Voltron, I mean? The last thing I’d want is for them to spend their time fretting.”

            “I can’t say as I know what they’ve done up ‘til now,” Thace admitted, still eyeing Shiro critically, “But I’ve given them a little assignment. There are two planets from which we might derive help – Stell and O’shetal – and with the presence of the separatists it might really aid in our mission.”

            “O’shetal?” Shiro echoed, “Pidge has been there before, back when Keith and I were trapped on Hydrus. She has girlfriends from there.”

            “Then that should make negotiations all the easier,” Thace sighed in relief. “They have a culture of very reserved and critical thinkers so I was concerned that they might refuse our offers. With an in like that and her highly tactical nature, Pidge is bound to fair well with them, then. I can only hope things go as smoothly with Stell.”

            “That reminds me,” Shiro mused, “I think Keith’s been tagged again. He was touching his arm yesterday in the same place where they put the tracker in him on Hydrus. I think Cora was trying to clue me into it and it _would_ make sense, right? There’s got to be a way that Maray and the Guard can find Keith so quickly regardless of what’s going on.”

            “That’s true,” Thace murmured. “No matter how welcoming Zarkon pretends to be he’s not just going to trust Keith, either. It would figure that he’d try to keep a close eye on him.”

            “If this plan is going to work then we’re going to have to remove that tracker,” Shiro surmised grimly. “It would be impossible to get the jump on Zarkon otherwise.”

            “The problem is,” Thace began with a frown.

            “Keith’s fugue, right,” Shiro finished in frustration. “Until he comes out of it there’s no way we can remove the tracker without making him suspicious of us. Even if he were to distrust Zarkon for having it implanted, things would get too messy if he still believes that he is Lotor.”

            “Nothing like leaving things to the last second,” Thace exhaled slowly. “How is that going, anyway? Is he any closer to remembering why we came here?”

            “I feel I’m making progress with Keith,” Shiro returned thoughtfully. “He’s… become fairly receptive to me. I get the sense that his memories of me were more thoroughly scrubbed from his mind, no doubt by intention. I keep trying to engage him when I can, but it’s hard to get time to ourselves. I keep seeing these moments where there’s some clarity, like he’s on the edge of remembering something, but then it slips away. It’s… it’s been hard, to be honest. He’s right there and yet a part of me misses him.”

            “As do I, kit,” Thace sighed deeply. “I can only imagine how it’s been for you as his lusvront. It sounds as if you’re close; don’t be afraid to take bigger risks. We only have until the end of the myokokak, which would be…”

            “Another six days,” Shiro translated quickly. “Less than a week now, by human time.” He exhaled tersely, carding a hand through his bangs. “I’ll do what I can to step it up,” he promised, “I just hope that he doesn’t reject me for it; if I can’t get close to him I’m not sure how this will work.”

            “We’ll make it work,” Thace returned firmly, expression grim. He shook his head, looking uncertainly to the door. Shiro followed his gaze, assuming his meaning.

            “I should get back before the others realize that I’m gone,” he assessed, rising and brushing the dirt from his pants.

            “Shiro,” Thace hesitated, reaching out to him laden with concern. “This match tonight,” he began, licking his lips. “I don’t know what you’ll face, but I have a feeling it won’t be anything good. The Chief Orchestraters have been busy, and that’s never a good sign. They’re really keeping this one under wraps, kit: even my best attempts to glean information on it failed. Just… please, be careful.”

            Shiro nodded somberly, feeling a bit lightheaded. He had intentionally put off thinking about the match after receiving Cora’s warning earlier that day, and the corroborating evidence was pointing in a direction that unsettled him. It was clear to him that the Chief Orchestraters were angling for the best entertainment possible, no doubt as their own lives were on the line should they disappoint the royal family.

 _‘They’re doing everything they can think of to eliminate me,’_ he realized grimly. _‘What greater excitement would there be than to have the Grand Champion overthrown?’_

            “Thank you, Thace,” he voiced, clapping his hand to the other man’s shoulder briefly. “Take care, yourself: we’re counting on you.”

            Filling with dread he returned to the arboretum, seeking out Keith and finding Vespi shortly thereafter. After a short talk they exited the building, Keith intent on seeing one more sight before he was whisked away to fulfill his princely obligations. Shiro followed quietly in toe, spirit diminished as the synthetic sky above them grew darker and darker still. Halfway through the judging of the City Station’s purebred gal’stara, a guard approached him, tapping on his shoulder with an officious look.

            “The Coliseum?” Shiro sighed knowingly. The guard nodded curtly, quietly escorting him from behind the panel and back out into the streets. “It’s not like I’m about to run,” Shiro grumbled as he was marched along, the dome of the arena looming closer.

            “Protocol,” the soldier returned stiffly.

            “Yeah,” Shiro returned, “I know.” He allowed himself to be led through the side entrance, passable only by those that held the correct key card, a measure put in place to keep myzentma from trying to escape. A few had gotten close, he’d overheard some of the guards saying, but all had been captured before they made it out of the amphitheatre and subsequently publically executed before the other prisoners. Even without Keith’s presence to tether him, he wasn’t foolish enough to try a move such as that.

            The guard took him beneath the stands, into the bowels of the arena. They passed through narrow, dimly lit corridors that branched off into access points wherein the sky bridges from the prison connected to the main building. Shiro stole a look to the metal gates that connected the two points as they passed, the murky remembrance of the fear he had felt standing before them for the first time surfacing. He hastened his steps, taking the familiar route to the defending champion’s lounge.

            ‘Lounge’ was what the Galra called it, but it was no luxury, little more than a cell in which Shiro could do seldom else but pace until his time was up. Entering, he headed for the singular bench in the room, resting atop it with hands steepled over spread knees, contemplative.

            He hated the lounge. Hated it. It was almost worse than the fights themselves, the entire purpose to draw out feelings of anticipatory fear for as long as possible. He had been lucky the previous fight, being contained for only about a half hour, but already he could tell that the Chief Orchestrators intended to keep him for much longer, the time ticking away slowly in a game of psychological torment.

            After a time he could hear the stands filling, the muted sounds of conversation growing louder and louder as the minutes stretched on. Distant music followed, and then the infrequent chatter of the announcer, all just passing time until the event was set to begin. Shiro eyed his captors – the ones that had been so against the previous night’s pacing – and stretched in place, willing his limbs to feel more limber.

            With the familiar march of the Empire’s anthem, Shiro stood, knowing his time was coming to a close. He made for the doors to the arena, falling short when a clipped voice called out to him: “Vrepmyza?”

            Shiro’s gut lurched, shaken by the sudden alteration in routine. He turned to face a meticulous looking soldier, peering up at their considerable stature. “What’s going on?” he asked, lips drawn.

            “I am here to lay out for you the proceedings for the match,” the soldier answered.

            “I know how the matches work,” Shiro countered.

            “There have been some slight changes.”

            “Changes?” Shiro repeated, feeling hollow.

            “The rules for this match are simple:” the other announced, “Win or die, same as always. However, you will be fighting not only for your life and your honor, but a rare prize as well – the rank of Commander.”

            Shiro frowned, head lilting. “Commander?” he repeated warily. For someone who had only attained the rank of Corporal – and been demoted to Lance Corporal, at that – the promotion seemed exorbitantly generous.

            “Yes,” the guard confirmed, “Commander. In addition, there will be a time limit of one myokven and the match will conclude with the death of one or both of the participants, whichever arrives first. Vrepit sa.”

            Shiro stared after them, more uncertain than ever. “Vrepit sa,” he echoed as they strode from sight.

            _‘One myokven?’_ he pondered. _‘That’s what, about four hours? Why are they so eager to wrap things up? Usually the longer these matches drag on the more interesting television they make, so way rush?’_

            The soldier’s words repeated back to him and suddenly he understood more clearly, _‘If one of us doesn’t kill the other we will both be executed. It’s just like last time, then. Which would mean…’_ he sucked in a breath, stalking to the metal door as it began to stretch open, _‘Whoever I’m about to face is someone I wouldn’t want to kill.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a bit of a breather chapter for everyone! Vlippendho racing is -- by far -- one of my favorite bits of Galra culture that Ches and I have developed. God bless those giant flammable snails. 
> 
> How does everyone feel about Shiro's final round coming up, though?! Who do you think he'll face in the coliseum next?
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind responses over last week's chapter! We were both overjoyed to see that everyone enjoyed reading about our OC's -- it was a little nerve-wracking putting the diary chapters up because I was afraid people were going to get put off or lose interest. But thankfully it seemed like everyone enjoyed the last generation of paladins, which we're both really glad for.


	12. Forfeit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's Ches here. I wanted to drop in at the beginning of the chapter for a couple of reasons so if you'd take a moment to read this before continuing on to the chapter below I'd REALLY appreciate it!
> 
> 1\. Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments last chapter; it was really fun to talk with you guys and share in your speculations about what's to come in this chapter. It was super cool to hear your thoughts and reasoning! Feel free to continue guessing at things to come. <3
> 
> 2\. We're so sorry that we made so many of you anxious/worried! I mean, we're also really flattered that we managed to elicit such an emotional response, to be honest, but I hope you all managed the week alright.
> 
> 3\. I, personally, am very, very, very, VERY anxious about posting this chapter! I wrote this one and while I had a lot of fun in the process I am also extremely nervous about how it will be received. Obviously you will find out who/what Shiro is fighting for his third battle but with that will be a fairly big reveal - all I ask is that you see this chapter through to the end, even if you're displeased with said reveal. I really hope not to disappoint anyone or turn them off from the series. Sorry if this is a little cryptic at the moment but Moosey and I want to convey our solid promise that nothing is coming between Sheith in this series, period.
> 
> 4\. That said, we will be posting chapter thirteen TOMORROW (Saturday February 25, 2017). This is for two reasons: the first being that I am absolutely sick with nerves and the second being that there is a LOT that is about to go down in this chapter and we don't want to leave anyone on this chapter's ending for too long.
> 
> 5\. Moosey and I sincerely hope that you enjoy the chapter (now that I've probably scared you all half to death)!

            The door to the arena snapped open and Shiro shivered at once, staring agape at the landscape before him. The ring had been transformed into a glacial tundra, thick natural walls of ice jutting out of the ground at odd angles. Cautiously Shiro stepped forward, snow crunching underfoot as more fell from an unknown source above him. Another step and he nearly slipped, throwing out a hand instinctually to steady himself.

_‘Oh this is_ not _good,’_ he surmised at once, peering around the chunks of ice to find that nowhere in the arena offered escape from the treacherous terrain. He pressed on, skin pinking quickly from the bite of the cold. A massive snowdrift leant to one side of the ring and he hugged the wall towards it, carefully scanning his surroundings.

            But all was still, the shushing of the falling snow only serving to dull his senses. He peered upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of Keith, but he, too, was driven from view. Shiro exhaled slowly, feeling suddenly alone, his breath curling before him in foggy puffs.

_‘But I’m not alone,’_ he reminded himself grimly, struggling around the drift, the snow falling away underfoot.

            “Shit,” Shiro softly swore, shaking his leg free of a trench.

_‘The only way this could be worse is if this were sand,’_ he lamented. _‘But both are going to slow my ability to run and fatigue me quickly. The Chief Orchestrators are really not playing around: they want this match done and over with. But why?’_

            He recapitulated once more on his assertion: his enemy was not someone he would be willing to kill. Anxiety spiked through him, uncertain who could fit that bill. Certainly not Keith, his safety assured by his public approval and status alone. Thace, perhaps, he considered, but the man had seemed fine at the arboretum. Worried for him, yes, but not in any evident danger himself.

_‘What if it’s one of the other paladins?’_ Shiro panicked, searching about. _‘What would I do? What_ could _I do?’_ The soldier who informed him of the match’s parameters had made it perfectly clear that there would be no cheating of death.

_‘No,’_ Shiro tried to comfort himself, _‘There’s no way that the Empire could have gotten ahold of one of us so quickly, especially without Thace being made aware of it. So who would that leave?’_

            He had no family to speak of, what remained of it scattered to the far reaches of the world: his grandparents in Japan and his extended family in Norway and other Scandinavian countries. Team Voltron had been the closest thing to a family he’d had in a while, a welcome addition to his life. He cherished each member dearly, but with their safety assured, Shiro wasn’t sure who was left to fight.

_‘Cora?’_ he wondered, hearkening back to her letter. Her situation had appeared dire, though by her choice or not he really hadn’t been able to tell. Still, the suggestion seemed off. What reason would the Chief Orchestrators have, after all, to pit them against one another? It wasn’t as if they were particularly close, nor was Keith to Cora, which might thereby hurt him. In fact there seemed to be no motivation at all, and so this, too, Shiro dismissed.

            He froze in his exploration of the perimeter, suddenly aware of a series of large tracks snaking their way through the sleet. Fresh snow had fallen over them, nearly obscuring the evidence, but the deep impressions still remained. _‘Boots,’_ Shiro observed, hunkering down by the nearest print. _‘They’re big,’_ he realized, fanning his hand out over the instep. _‘Which means that they may be slow; the larger the enemy the harder it is for them to adapt quickly. Speed may just be my ticket to freedom here.’_

            He followed the tracks warily, noting their even gait with a sinking feeling. _‘Whoever or whatever they are, they’re very surefooted in snow. They undeniably have the upper hand on me; I’ll need to find some way to turn that against them.’_ The footprints continued, edging as Shiro had done along the outside of the arena, until, at length, they were joined by a second pair of tracks: Shiro’s own.

            Unsettled, Shiro looked up sharply, searching in vain for his competitor. _‘They’ve been hunting me.’_ The dark notion echoed in his brain intrusively, filling him with fear. _‘This is an intelligent opponent, and an experienced one,’_ he quickly surmised. _‘Despite the time limit they’re taking their time, which can only mean that they’re confident that they will win.’_

            Shiro turned on heel, backtracking slowly, heart hammering in his ears. There was no sense in dragging things out, in indulging his opponent any further in their game of cat and mouse. Sooner or later they would have to confront one another; Shiro just hoped he was ready.

            The snowfall worsened, a storm of white obscuring his vision. Shiro primed his arm, letting it hum to life beside him, prepared to strike. The glow would tip off the enemy to his position, he knew, but there was no way around it. If he were to land the preemptive blow then he would have to be at arms the moment they came into view.

            A distorted silhouette caught his attention and he froze, watching intently as the shadow passed before the sheet of ice. Several yards away they stopped before the paladin, watching with satisfaction at the shock they had caused.

            “You,” Shiro breathed, disbelieving.

            His enemy leant into an easy stance, lips lilting into a smirk. “Miss me?” Sendak jeered with a predatory flash of teeth. Without waiting for a response his arm roared to life, made anew by the Druid’s hands. Shiny white not unlike Shiro’s own, it pulsed with energy, bands of orchid light running along the forearm and coalescing across the tightened knuckles: a prosthetic fit for a brawler.

            Sendak drew close with alarming speed, unhindered by the unwieldy arm that Shiro remembered, his ability to fight increasingly enhanced. Shiro dodged to the side just in time, close enough to feel the heat of the weapon radiating against his ribs. Sendak laughed, whirling around and striking out, fist meeting the space where Shiro’s head had been not a moment before and connecting with the wall of ice behind it with a crack.

            Shiro went blank as he ran, awash with confusion that bubbled over into anger. He could still clearly recount the last time that they had fought, how the Galra had jeopardized the lives of his friends, how they had just barely been able to pull together to take him down.

_‘And he fought differently then, too,’_ Shiro calculated. _‘Every time his arm extended he left his chest wide open; it was a really obvious flaw – apparently the Druids saw to correcting that.’_

            He scowled, dodging once more as Sendak gained on him, his speed overtaken by the other man’s surefootedness. He slipped on the ice, for once fortuitous as Sendak rocketed passed him, unable to redirect quickly enough. Shiro scrabbled to his feet, hissing as the snow wet his clothing, freezing cold against his skin.

            “How did you –?” he panted, squaring off once more.

            “Get back here?” the commander finished for him, looking pleased. “Did it ever occur to you,” he suggested, launching forward and swiping, “That you were merely following my every whim?”

            “What?” Shiro snapped, taken aback as Sendak finished through with his other hand, forcing the breath from Shiro’s lungs and knocking him to his knees. He coughed hard, desperate inhales made painful by the chill of the stadium, burning deep into his lungs. His eyes watered in protest and Shiro cuffed away the would-be tears, forcing himself to stand before Sendak could injure him further.

            The other man was preparing to strike, calculating Shiro’s movements carefully. “The coordinates I supplied you, everything!” he crowed, choosing the precise moment to propel ahead, “Do you really think ejecting me was _your_ idea? That it wasn’t exactly what _I_ wanted?”

            His next attack sent Shiro reeling, aimed just passed the line of Shiro’s arm to meet with his shoulder, throwing him off balance. Shiro tumbled bodily with a groan, letting himself roll into a crouch. Sendak was upon him in seconds, the glow of his prosthetic fitting dangerously beneath Shiro’s chin, the band across his knuckles extending like a blade.

            “Think on it, Champion,” Sendak gloated. “Trapped on your ship? I’d rather die than be a captive.”

            “Vrepit sa,” Shiro returned coldly.

            Sendak’s lips twisted with amusement, something unreadable dancing in his remaining eye. “Vrepit sa,” he repeated, and then he was leaping away, Shiro knocking aside his prosthetic with its near-twin, twisting about to swipe at his opponent’s knees. Sendak considered him, cracking his neck in contemplation, entirely unscathed. Shiro growled in frustration, working a palm across his injured shoulder and feeling the bruising instantaneously.

            “Here at least,” Sendak mused, “I can fight for my honor.”

            Shiro ignored him, taking in the battlefield. _‘If I don’t take out all of this ice and snow then he’ll kill me before long. If I can just melt it, destroy it somehow, then it will be easier to manage.’_ He stole a glance to his opponent’s broad frame, the obvious power that lay within his rooted stance. _‘Perfect,’_ he decided, angling himself before another curving ice sheet.

            “Honor?” Shiro goaded, bracing himself for impact. “And yet here you are in the clothes of a myzentma; how strange.”

            Sendak’s look hardened, “I won’t be decommissioned for long,” he promised, barreling across the expanse and slamming his fist upon the place Shiro’s stomach had been, the ice he was met with cracking and splintering under hand. Acting quickly, Sendak slammed his other hand to the side of where Shiro made to escape, boxing him in.

            The paladin was breathless, staring up at him hatefully. “And yet,” Shiro challenged, recalling the terms of the match, “When I kill you I’ll replace you.”

            “Not the first time you’ve threatened that,” Sendak grinned, slashing towards Shiro’s chest with his arm, the heat of it slicing through the ice in an instant. Shiro let himself fall, pushing passed Sendak’s legs and racing to stand, bolting as fast as he could.

            _‘What?’_ Shiro’s thoughts raced, half formed pictures coming to mind. He pushed them away without regard, intent on staying alive. All around him ice was crashing, toppling from the weight of Sendak’s swings and the combined energy of their prosthetics, ran along the surfaces in a desperate attempt to melt the barriers away. Water began to pool in their stead, cold but not so much as to freeze, the snow growing slushier underfoot.

            _‘This isn’t real,’_ Shiro told himself, _‘He’s another shadow, an illusion: there’s no way that he made it until now. If he was ever found then Zarkon would have had him executing for failing to claim the castle, for losing the Red Lion. There’s no way; he’s a fake.’_

            Sendak was growling with frustration behind him, aware he was being used but unable to do much about it. Shiro continued to lead him through the course, taking out what obstacles he could. He was beginning to tire, muscles screaming in protest as they worked despite the chill, and he knew Sendak must be faring about the same.

            “He was right about you, that shadow of yours,” Sendak taunted, voice warped by the arena so that Shiro could no longer tell which way it was coming from. “You’re a shell of who you once were, a broken soldier! Fight me like the champion you are!”

            Shiro sucked in a breath and ducked for cover, pressing his back along one of the few remaining ice walls. One of the tallest yet, the sheet was blown out and arching overhead, its edges wickedly sharp. _‘This will do,’_ Shiro assessed, scooting to the perfect location, listening as Sendak hunted him down. Despite his size, Sendak’s footfalls were practically silent, a lifetime of mountainous living working against the paladin.

            “Show me your fight, your hatred!” Sendak barked. “Give me a challenge, Champion.”

            He rounded on Shiro with a sneer, lashing out before he had the chance to dash away, Sendak’s strike grazing him across the shoulder. Shiro howled in pain, feeling the exposed skin sear and bleed. He wheeled on his opponent blindly, catching him in the side with a hard crack. Sendak choked out a gasp, staggering forward in light of his fractured ribs, determination plain on his face.

            Shiro swung again and Sendak caught their limbs together, fisting his grasp around Shiro’s wrist and pushing backward, slamming Shiro’s body against the ice. Shiro coughed harshly, vision spotting from the impact, prosthetic twisted uncomfortably above him, made impotent by Sendak’s own.

            The Galra inclined towards him, voice made low. “I never got to say before,” came the velvet rumble, “But you look prettier with piercings.”

            Shiro froze, hazy, unbidden images coming to mind: the sensation of firm hands on him, fingers dancing reverently across the helix of his ear, the throaty growl of Sendak’s laugh, at once instigating and oddly comforting.

            _‘This has to be fake,’_ he told himself, _‘Some sort of Druid trick.’_

            Yet for a moment he went limp, the assault of memory overwhelming him. Sendak appraised him quietly, grip slackening at his response. The oversight had Shiro rocketing back to his senses, danger singing in his veins. Twisting free he slammed his arm against the ice at his back, forcing a blade of energy to course through the sheet.

            Sendak snarled, faltering to regain his hold on Shiro, but the ice was falling away, the paladin escaping behind it. He landed roughly on the arena’s floor, nothing to break his descent but watery ice, the granules scratching up his exposed cheek and palm. Before him the ice crashed down, all sharp points and snowy tonnage, burying the Galra avalanche-like.

            _‘That’s not going to stop him,’_ Shiro acknowledged, taking the barest of moments to catch his breath. He had run out of places to hide but the ring had deescalated in danger, terrain more accommodated to Shiro’s needs. _‘Still,’_ he figured, watching carefully as the pile of ice shifted, Sendak clawing his way out from within. _‘Losing his advantage won’t be enough; he’s bound to change tactics, and soon.’_

            The mound exploded with an arc of purple light, Sendak emerging and shaking the snow from his coat with a roar. He clawed at his face, glass cascading from it as he wiped free the wreckage of his mechanical eye.

            “Ah, so now I see,” Sendak’s voice boomed across the arena, rife with anger. “You don’t remember, do you?” He wheeled about, searching for Shiro in the driving snow, hindered by the loss of his eye.

            “And yet,” he pressed, ears turning about as he advanced, “You still have the instinct to fight me!”

            He stopped, spotting his opponent and setting upon him rapidly. Shiro dodged his prosthetic swiftly, only to be caught by the other hand square in the mouth. He staggered backwards, human hand to his face, blood streaming into his palm, his nose most likely broken.

            “Your body screams for my blood, doesn’t it?” Sendak accused, suddenly seizing Shiro by the arm and bending close to his ear. “I wonder what else it misses?” Without mercy he shoved Shiro back, unbalancing him and sending him sprawling to the ground.

            Shiro reeled, memory crashing in on him, unwanted. The bodily feel of sparring, far more mercilessly than he had ever done aboard the Castle of Lions, sweat and blood dripping from him in equal measure. The feeling of amusement; of frustration and want and detest all boiling together beneath the skin. Of his uniform being stripped from his skin, replaced instead with bruising touches and the scrape of teeth. The knowledge that he had welcomed those actions, consenting and craving for more.

            _Rathilbe._

The word clicked into place, dawning upon him with sudden clarity. Shiro picked himself up, spitting blood. It didn’t matter what had happened between them: the rules of the match were still the same.

            “I swore that I would kill you,” Shiro growled, beginning to circle his opponent. “I remember that much.”

            “Frequently, yes,” Sendak smirked with satisfaction. “And I always had the same words for you.”

            The phrase rippled forward unbidden to the forefront of Shiro’s mind, the syllables already dancing on his tongue, “You may try,” he recited.

            “Yet you never did,” Sendak returned, charging forward and nearly knocking through Shiro with the brunt of his fist. They toppled from the force, Shiro finding himself pinned a moment later. Sendak considered him in that moment, expression unreadable. “I wonder why,” he mused quietly. Then his hands had found their way around Shiro’s neck, squeezing with increasing pressure.

            “Familiar, isn’t it, Champion?” he laughed, and Shiro could remember another time where their positions had been the same, the pressure at his throat urging him on. “After all this time,” Sendak continued, “And you’re finally right back where you belong.”

            Shiro struggled, sapped of strength, head screaming with the need for oxygen. He clawed at the hands that held him, unable to use the heat of his arm for risk of grievously injuring himself. Distantly he saw shades of his past self, just a private still fresh from the Coliseum. He could feel the weight of Sendak behind him, the low instructions in his ear as he showed him how to fire a weapon, the first real gun he’d ever held. The harsh bark of his superior officers as he was made to drill again and again, the threat of execution constantly held over his head.

            Instinct took over and he squirmed beneath the vice of Sendak’s grasp, his legs bucking free from underneath the commander. Scarcely able to see he planted his feet against the other man’s hips, struggling to unseat him with what remained of his dwindling energy.

            “Very good,” Sendak praised in a low rumble that left Shiro shaking with memory, “Your Galra training is finally coming back to you.”

            It wasn’t enough.

            Shiro kicked out one last time, his arm burning fiercely as he brought it slashing down over Sendak’s chest. The Galra yowled, instantly releasing him and clutching at his wound. Shiro sputtered and choked, rolling onto his side, still coughing up blood. His vision spotty, he tried to angle himself to face his attacker, unable to do much else but lie in the melting snow.

            Something was coursing across Sendak’s body, a deep tyrian in contrast with his skin.

            Blood.

            Shiro stared, scarcely certain if what he was seeing was real, too dizzied to trust himself. Sendak stared down at himself in shock, the stuff smeared across his hand.

            _‘He’s real,’_ Shiro recognized dimly. _‘This truly is Sendak.’_

            For the briefest of moments Shiro twisted with emotion, a burning sense of upset and tangible worry tearing through his breast. Sendak looked up to Shiro, reading his reaction plainly. The feeling vanished.

            “Surprised?” Sendak barked, shaking the blood from his claws, “Thought I was an illusion, didn’t you? Would that have made it easier for you, I wonder? It certainly didn’t stop you from killing that boy. You show more reserve with me than you did with him.”

            “I didn’t kill him!” Shiro snapped, struggling to stand.

            “You would have!” Sendak countered, giving pursuit. “There’s no escaping it, Champion, you know it: he would be dead, by your hand! Did you enjoy it, Champion? Taking his last breath?”

            “You’re sick,” Shiro hissed, edging backwards, arm raised in warning.

            “You would have, once,” Sendak taunted knowingly. “Little else satisfied you, save for…” he cut himself off with a smirk, watching with vindictive glee as Shiro’s expression contorted itself into one of mortified rage.

            “Fuck you,” he snarled.

            “Better, Champion,” Sendak gloated, “You’re finally beginning to sound like your true self.”

            “I know who I am,” Shiro bit back, circling as he searched for an opening.

            “You’ve said that before,” the other dismissed.

            “Don’t fuck with me, Sendak!”

            “ _Commander_ ,”

            “Not for long.”

            “Oh?” Sendak purred, and Shiro knew that he had made some sort of mistake. “You commit to it, then?” his enemy pressed, fangs exposed in wicked amusement. “That you’re home where you belong? That you’re one of us? A servant of the Empire?”

            “Never,” Shiro spat, inwardly knowing the untruth of it all. “Never again,” he rectified, and Sendak quirked a brow.

            “You can never leave here, Champion,” he condescended. “This is the only place left where you belong. You may run, but you’ll come back.” He sniffed humorlessly, “You _always_ come back.”

            “Not this time,” Shiro vowed.

            Sendak lunged, driving them both to their knees as he grappled with Shiro. The paladin struggled, arm caught in Sendak’s grip, flaring in the hopes of release. But Sendak paid it no mind, renting the metal and twisting with sickening finality, the prosthetic caving beneath him and rupturing into a shower of sparking light.

            “That’s a shame,” Sendak returned, voice cold. Shiro trembled in his grasp, utterly trapped with nowhere else to turn. He stared into the commander’s remaining eye, knowing. Sendak leaned forward, the grip at the back of Shiro’s head nearly tender, his voice a pained whisper.

            “I could have loved you.”

            With a swift jerk of his hands Shiro’s neck snapped beneath him, the paladin crumpling lifelessly in his arms.

            “ _NO!_ ”

            Lo’s scream cut across the arena, his voice sharp against the gathering hush of the crowd. Something was twisting inside him, a rising sense of panic and overwhelming pain. He could feel himself shaking, the grip on his throne white knuckled. Zarkon turned to him, observing critically.

            “Sendak has reclaimed his honor,” he stated flatly, the briefest flash of anger crossing his features. “He will be restored to his station as Second in Command.”

            “What about Shiro?” Lo whimpered, choking around staggered breaths. It couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. Yet Shiro remained motionless in the center of the arena, the huddled form of Sendak standing vigil beside him.

            “Your Champion will be cremated; what you do with his bones is up to you,” Zarkon answered dismissively. “Gilt them or put them in a shadowbox, I care not: he is no longer of value.”

            “That’s not –!” Lo aggressed, anger surging forward in waves. He tore away from his throne, pulse racing.

            _‘Why am I so upset?’_ he scolded himself, unable to keep from feeling like his heart was caving in. _‘I didn’t even know him; what could he have been to me?’_

Memories of the last several days replayed in his mind’s eye, overlapping with scenes he couldn’t place, the faces of strangers flitting at the corners of his awareness. Shiro featured prominently throughout: his endless patience and easy kindness, the softening of his storm grey eyes, the way his hand felt pressed against Lo’s own. The warmth he exuded and protectiveness he provided; all of the things that endeared him to Lo.

            _‘Someone like that doesn’t deserve this kind of death,’_ he thought with dismay. _‘He doesn’t deserve any of the shit he’s been put through, so why did he go through with it? What could I have done to protect him?’_

Protect. It was a thought-provoking word for Lo, the concept filling him with equal parts fire and affection. He didn’t know what had inspired the act in Shiro: there was nothing to suggest that the behavior arose from deference or obligation, Shiro more often than not seeming to entirely forget Lo’s status. And Lo hadn’t minded it, taking his protection for granted all the while harboring his attentions.

            The way they had talked the night before, the knowing laughs and looks that Shiro often made, the way their banter seemed to fall right into place: there was no question to Lo that they had been close. Friends, and maybe – he couldn’t help but to hope – something far deeper than that, Shiro’s lingering touches and fond expressions leaving imprints in his mind.

            He wanted to match Shiro in all the ways that Shiro made him feel cherished, wanted to fight beside him and stand by him as an equal. _‘Maybe that’s how things used to be,’_ he acknowledged, _‘And maybe we can have that again. Maybe it doesn’t matter who I am or what I am, what I do or don’t remember: Shiro means the world to me, and I don’t think any force can come between that. I won’t just accept that he’s gone. Shiro would fight for me and I’m sure as hell going to fight for him. There’s nothing I wouldn’t try.’_

            “Haggar!” he proclaimed, standing before the Druid resolvedly. The Mother of Constellations cocked her head, sneaking a look towards Zarkon before turning back to address the prince.

            “Yes, Your Highness?” she asked warily.

            “Is there anything – _anything_ – that can be done for Sh–,” Lo caught himself quickly, disguising his slip with an oncoming sob. “For the Champion?” he finished, fighting to keep from crying.

            Haggar stared at him – through him, it seemed – before slowly shaking her head ‘no’. “There is no sanctioned act that can revive the dead,” she worded purposefully. “We Druids are bound by the law.”

            Lo frowned, sensing an unspoken answer amidst her words. “And an unsanctioned act?” he pressed. “Is there anything that can bring him back?”

            “What’s done has been done,” Zarkon interjected harshly, his look severe. “Accept your loss with grace.”

            Lo recoiled, repulsed. _‘_ My _loss?’_ he considered bitterly. _‘This isn’t even about me.’_ He turned upon the dais, the stadium still quiet as Shiro’s body continued to lie still in what remained of the snow. Lo’s heart wrenched at the sight.

            Without waiting to be dismissed he made for the stairs, disturbing the Royal Guard who made to bar his exit, uncertain if their choices were the right ones. “Where are you going, Lotor?” Zarkon growled from his throne, only further steeling the prince’s resolve.

            “Let me through!” Lo ordered, drawing up to the full of his diminutive height. “I demand that you let me pass!” The guards looked to Zarkon, terrified, and then to the prince, offering minimal resistance as they tried fruitlessly to appease both parties. Lo broke passed them, descending into the stands and making for the field, vaulting over the railing and ejecting himself into a sizeable snowdrift. The act soaked through his clothes at once and he shivered, emerging from the bank and powering towards the center of the ring.

            The arena was still bitingly cold, the chill seeping through the fine gauze of his garments and flushing his skin. Lo scarcely noticed, running as fast as he could over the slush of the snow, the ground slick where the terrain had melted out. Sendak was still presiding over Shiro’s fallen form, staring down at him as though still processing the moment of his victory.

            “ _Move_ ,” Lo hissed venomously, falling to his knees beside Shiro and pulling him into his lap. Sendak hesitated, and then Lo could hear the steady crunch of his footfalls disappearing, unusually loud in the quiet of the stands. He knew he was being watched, his actions likely projected upon the many screens that filled the arena, the distress he felt plain for all his subjects to see. He couldn’t care less what they thought.

            “Please,” he begged aloud, pulling Shiro closer, the evidence of death grimly apparent as his body was moved. “ _Please_ ,” he called again, breath growing ragged as tears overtook him. He brushed the soft white lock from Shiro’s face, cradling him against his chest as though his feelings alone could reverse the paladin’s fate.

            No one was cheering; Lo’s anguished cries the only sound that filled the stadium. The quiet gave way to whispers as the crowd began to shift; Lo incorrectly assuming they were reacting to him until the answer was nearly upon him. Gasping around a sob, he looked up, a dark shape emerging at the corner of his vision.

            Trying his best to stifle himself, Lo watched as Haggar steadily approached. She seemed to almost glide across the snow, her footfalls unhindered by the terrain. She reached him just as the flurries subsided, the last few flakes drifting over her bowed head and disappearing in the white of her hair. Lo cringed, uncertain if he were about to be punished for his disobedience.

            “Crown Prince Lotor,” she addressed in her gravelly voice, “You should be thankful; your father has decided to bestow upon you a wondrous gift.”

            Lo fought back his tears, willing his voice to even out as he spoke. “A gift?” he reiterated, holding tighter onto Shiro. “How do you mean?”

            Haggar regarded him impassively, half stepping away, her voice suddenly magnified as she spoke for the benefit of the entire stadium. “Your father, His Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon, has granted me permission to use one of the Druid’s most closely guarded magicks. Only I, Mother of Constellations, have the ability to use it: the power to restore life.”

            Lo started in surprise, his reaction mirrored by those assembled, a wave of hurried murmurs passing through the stands. _‘This has got to be a trick,’_ he tried to ration with himself, the numerous horrific outcomes weighing on his mind. Cora’s words came back to him with haunting clarity.

            “ _They make people into monsters.”_

He shivered, even the blood smeared across his clothing beginning to cool. Shiro’s skin – long since frozen from the nature of the arena – warmed beneath his hands, the impression of life nearly convincing. Lo’s heart jumped at the prospect. _‘No,’_ he decided firmly, _‘If there’s a chance at all, I’ll take it. I can deal with the consequences later.’_

            “Crown Prince Lotor,” Haggar issued, turning back towards his prone form. “Will you accept this gift?”

            Lo licked his drying lips, meeting the Druid’s gaze. “Do you swear that he will be restored exactly as he was, in full faculty he originally possessed?” he phrased carefully. “That he will have all the same thoughts, the same soul, the same memories?”

            Haggar scowled, expression hidden from the rest of the audience by the cowl of her robe. “I swear it,” she solemnized, unable to refuse in the eyes of the public.

            _‘Good,_ ’ Lo determined, feeling at ease. He knew the offer itself had been less of a gift and more of an expectation, Zarkon playing up his strategy as charity, forcing the prince to dance to his tune.

_‘Two can play that game,’_ Lotor inwardly crowed. _‘And I’ll use you as much as I know you must use me; just because you’re trying to save face now doesn’t mean I won’t find a way to benefit. You must realize, Father, what with the separatists’ actions that your empire is growing divided. Shiro was the one thing they could unite over, someone they could unanimously celebrate and with him dead there is little left to hold things together, no matter how superficial it may seem. You may need your poster boy back, but I’ll be damned if I let you turn him into a mindless puppet.’_

            With satisfaction he gave Haggar a consenting nod, slowly peeling himself away from Shiro’s body. “Then I accept this gift,” he condoned.

            “Be warned, my Prince,” Haggar returned with saccharine joy. “That this magick comes at a price: a flesh sacrifice must be given in order to complete the ritual.”

            Lo stilled, feeling played. _‘Trust Haggar to dole out my own punishments.’_

“How much flesh does this cost?” he asked, voice tight.

            “Not much, my Prince,” Haggar crooned. “Merely a limb: a leg or an arm, it doesn’t matter which. The spell will remove it from the person of your choosing at once, although it pays no heed to personal preference. All you need do is name the sacrifice.”

            Lo blanched, the gravity of the choice weighing heavily upon him. Around he could feel the fearful prickle of the crowd, the muted shuffle of recoiling, of trying to protect themselves. He hated that the situation caused them anxiety and fear, the fact that it was what they had come to expect of their rulers souring in his stomach.

            For a moment he considered Sendak, the loathing he felt towards the other man threatening to boil over. Besides, he figured, he’d really be something with two mechanical limbs, just another chew toy for Haggar’s coven to experiment upon.

            _‘No,’_ he amended bitterly. _‘Even if he’s a complete monster he doesn’t deserve that.’_ He looked towards the dais on which he had watched the course of the match, his father still enthroned above.

_‘My anger is misplaced,’_ he realized slowly. _‘Even a bastard like Sendak was confined to the rules of the match; was he_ really _to blame for Shiro’s death? He hadn’t even relished it, snapping Shiro’s neck and killing him in an instant, unmoving until the point I myself came onto the field.’_

            The hatred within him crystallized, finding a new source. _‘It’s you, isn’t it?’_ he seethed, sights locked on Zarkon. _‘You pushed and manipulated until things got to this point; you made sure Shiro was worn down as far as he could go, that he was matched against enemies that would break him from the inside out._

_‘This was never about me, was it? This entire mockery of a celebration – you couldn’t care less how this affects me, what pain you’re causing me. All these ridiculous events and lavish parties, all of it was just a convenient excuse for you, wasn’t it? This whole thing has been about you: about serving your own needs and exacting your own revenge. This was the outcome that you wanted: you’re responsible for this.’_

            Lo drew in a breath, knowing there was only one answer to the Druid’s question. “Myself,” he announced, triggering a chorus of surprise. “The sacrifice I name is myself.”

            Haggar twitched, glaring at him with mixed frustration and wonder, her attempts at sadism dismantled in an instant. “Are you certain, my Prince?” she asked thinly, no doubt hoping he would reconsider.

            “I am,” he asserted instead, meeting her gaze head-on.

            She sniffed in disgusted disbelief, raising her hands and letting her robes flutter back to her elbows. “Then let us begin!” she announced, voice carrying in eerie echo across the stadium. Chanting steadily in archaic Galran she began to shiver, sagging trancelike against the snow. Her words continued, falling in mantras as the first faint outlines of orchid began to glow beneath Shiro’s body. Not wanting to either interfere or to let Shiro go, Lo shuffled away, kneeling just outside the readily growing ring that housed the spell.

            As it solidified it shone brighter, almost white, the scrollwork of magick curling out across the casted circle in neat arrays. Brilliant purple light emanated from the twisted metal remains of Shiro’s arm, contrasting with the golden hue his body had taken on, almost pulsing with arcane energy. A gust of wind picked up without source, the effects of the magick taking root as Haggar’s chanting turned to wails, a banshee cry of unknown words.

            The winds grew fiercer, arcs of golden light shooting away from Shiro’s body and finding Lo where he knelt, encircling him with burning hot intent. He winced, overwhelmed by the lancing pain but tried not to let it show, doubling over to hide his face from the onlookers surrounding him. Below him the snow had begun to melt away with purpose, sigils cropping up around him in a semi-circle. He shifted, chancing behind him as the markings spread, anticipation wavering on fearful as the circle flashed in completion.

            Haggar’s wailing stopped suddenly and the breath caught in Lo’s throat. He stared at her grotesque form, the woman’s body bent back much farther than it ever ought to have, her voice a croaking rasp. And then she was screaming, a piercing note that made Lo’s ears ring, ducking his head beneath his hands at once. The act was short lived, an intense pain building in his body that made him cry out as he fell to his side in convulsions. There was an odd stretching sensation in his left thigh, a mounting pressure that gurgled with heat. There was a damning snap and Lo, too, was screaming, his cries entwining with Haggar’s own in a deafening cacophony.

            A burst of golden light and the spell was over, Haggar crumpling like a marionette cut of its strings, the arena made quiet save for Lo’s strangled sobs. He curled forward and clutched at the place where his leg had been, made nauseous and disoriented by its sudden absence. Shock was setting in, numbing him against the pain, his delirious mind noting the way the snow was starting to darken around him.

_‘It’s my blood,’_ he realized distantly. _‘I’m bleeding.’_

            Med bay attendants rushed across the field, voices sharp with orders and urgency. Lo paid them no mind, even as they set their hands upon him and began to insert needles beneath his skin. He stared ahead to Shiro’s body, refusing to look away. The snow lifted and settled atop him, the soft touch triggering the smallest response.

            “ _Shiro!_ ” Lo cried out, struggling towards him despite the hands that held him in place. “Shiro!”

            There was a faint movement, a fatigued twitch that yielded a low groan, Shiro’s hand slowly rising to rub at his throat. He exhaled sharply, immediately erupting into violent coughs that threw him to his side. He ceased, catching sight of the prince, eyes blown wide with shock.

            Lo smiled, all sense of pain subsiding in the wake of Shiro’s safety. _‘You’re back,’_ he contented, vision growing weak, _‘You’re really back. You’ll never come to harm again; from now on we protect each other.’_

            Vow made, Lotor collapsed against the melted snow and lapsed into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...please don't hate me? I am so sorry.
> 
> SO. A LOT just went down here. As promised, the next chapter will be coming out tomorrow (Saturday February 25, 2017) so you will get more answers VERY soon. We just couldn't keep you hanging.
> 
> Clearly THIS chapter answered about as many questions as it asked. Tomorrow's update will start to explain what all went down but the full explanation will be spread out over time. Feel free to ask any questions you have in the comments and we will answer them to the best of our ability - providing that they won't spoil too much. :3
> 
> Oh boy. Still so nervous. I would like to reiterate that Sheith is THE ship of this series - there will be no love triangles or sudden dramatic upheavals in their relationship REGARDLESS of what has been revealed/heavily hinted at in this chapter. You also have our solemn oath that our portrayal of Shiro's past relationship is NOT one of abuse nor would we romanticize such relationships. I know there is a fair amount of outcry on Galra/Paladin relationships within the fandom and I just want to be as crystal clear as I can that Shiro's relationship was 10000% consensual and mutual, even if it appears unorthodox when compared to contemporary human standards of love. If you have any concerns or questions PLEASE feel free to speak up or ask.
> 
> I really hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter and that I have not alienated or upset anyone. ;n; Moosey and I hope to see you for tomorrow's update - we figured one night was a long enough wait for everything that happened here.  
> <3 Ches


	13. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry we couldn't post any sooner - we got to see our friends last night and were out until two in the morning. We kind of crashed when we got home, so sorry about that. Here is the chapter as promised; we hope you enjoy! Thank you as always for your readership and support!  
> <3  
> Ches

            Thace stood outside of the fortress-like doors that divided the Druid’s compound from the rest of the Third Ring, Commander Annis at his side. With the increase of defenses after the Vesh’s attacks, only an officer of Annis’ standing was allowed to request access to the area, especially given the patient that was housed within. The massive doors rolled open a fraction and the Mage that had greeted them initially reappeared, a Priestess standing by her side in billowing black robes. The black eyes of her mask bored into Thace and then Annis before a hand slid over the guise, removing it and revealing the Druid’s drawn face.

            “Commander Annis, Lieutenant Thace,” she greeted in a clipped tone. “You’ve requested to inspect the security of the prince’s room?”

            “That’s correct, Merla,” Annis confirmed smoothly, long arms wound behind his back confidently. Merla nodded sharply, replacing her mask and gesturing for them to follow. Thace felt guilty for tricking his friend by insisting on the inspection, even more so knowing that most of the soldiers were made uncomfortable by the Druid’s unsettling presences. Although Annis seemed mostly unbothered, Thace knew that the request alone would get on the Druid’s nerves; they were a prideful bunch, and the action was inevitably going to come across as a slight to their competency. But to Thace, seeing Keith and ensuring his wellbeing was far more important than any sort of hurt feelings.

            Thace had been in the throes of absolute anxiety since he’d seen his son’s bloody form over the broadcast, already having been reeling in sorrow from the moment Shiro took his last breath. He’d been up all night pacing and fretting, begging Serro’s memory for forgiveness.

            ‘ _I’m so sorry, ilbe,_ ’ he’d thought, crumpling at the foot of his bed and shaking with sobs. ‘ _I let our kit get hurt. I failed our family again_.’

            He’d kept the broadcast on all night, all but collapsing in relief when it was revealed that Keith was in a stable condition, expected to make a full recovery with the application of Quintessence. As soon as he could, he’d all but charged Central Command, seeking out one of the commanders in order to beg for admittance to the Druid compound where Keith was being treated.

            Inside of the compound the lights were even dimmer than the rest of City Station, the halls lit by the same faintly glowing orbs that often floated in the Druid temples. The cloaked women trailed passed him, the eyeless holes of their masks peering curiously at the pair of soldiers in their midst. The air here was heady, the entirety of the compound awash in the ambient hum of their magicks.

            “Here,” Merla intoned softly, stopping at a set of doors and pressing her palm to the pad beside it. The doors hissed open, allowing them access to the private wing. “He’ll be in the last room on the right; there are no others present here at the time save for his caretakers. Take your time.”

            “Thanks,” Annis drawled, waving at the priestess casually. The Druid frowned, shutting the door and sealing herself off from the officers. Annis released a long, drawn-out sigh, pale irises pointedly pinning Thace out of the corner of his eyes.

            “I don’t know what the hell all of this is about Thace, but it’s none of my business,” he surmised, wandering into the nearest room and beginning to poke around aimlessly. “Do what you need to.”

            Thace smiled, immediately feeling thankful for having such a good friend in Annis – he may not have been part of the Vesh as far as Thace knew, but he was a good man all the same and had an amazing sense of discretion. In the years they’d known one another, he’d used his technical skills to help cover up Thace’s tracks more than the lieutenant would have liked to admit.

            He thanked the commander quietly, only to be dismissed with a noncommittal grunt. Steeling himself for what he might see, Thace started down the hall, trembling as he approached the final room.

            Through the glass viewport, Thace could see an Ovate in a sterile white bodysuit leaning over Keith, fingers tapping holographic screens and keyboards projected above his chest. Keith himself seemed to be sound asleep, looking peaceful beneath the covers, if pale. The Ovate glanced through the viewport at Thace, gesturing him in with a nod of her head.

            “Are you here on the emperor’s behalf?” she asked.

            “Yes,” Thace responded immediately, hardly taking the time to weigh the consequences. He could figure out the details later – for now, he just needed to see his son.

            “I was wondering when he would send someone in to check on him,” the Ovate replied, banishing the projections and turning to face the lieutenant commander. She removed the clear plastic mask covering her mouth. “He’s in excellent condition considering. Thankfully Mother Haggar was able to cauterize the wound on the arena, so he hasn’t suffered enough blood loss to require a transfusion, but he will be a little anemic when he wakes up.”

            “And… his leg?” Thace pressed, eyes trailing over the lump beneath the fabric that covered his son’s lower half. The Ovate beamed, rolling away the sheet to show off her work.

            A stark white prosthetic occupied the place where Keith’s left leg had once been, sleek and streamline in design. The port it emerged from was surrounded by thick scar tissue that traveled up his thigh, but was surprisingly pale for a wound so fresh. Thace could have hugged the Druid.

            “We were up all night working,” she explained, folding the sheet back. “We’ve given his majesty the finest that our technology and abilities had to offer, forged by the Mother herself. The material is lightweight and flexible, but incredibly difficult to damage or break. The port should allow him to retain full sensation in the limb.”

            “When will he be well enough to leave?” Thace fretted, balling his hands and smoothing a thumb over his knuckles. It almost hurt to not be able to offer his son a comforting touch.

            “He should be ready to return to the palace upon waking up,” she explained. “We’ve given him enough Quintessence that the recovery should be incredibly speedy – he’ll be on his feet by tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow?!” Thace blinked, completely taken aback. “But an injury of this caliber—.”

            “The Druids take pride in providing excellent care to His Imperial Majesty and the royal family,” she responded, although her tone was far more comforting than smug. She rested a hand on Thace’s arm, clearly able to sense his concern. “As do the elite soldiers, apparently. You’re a good man, sir – I can tell you care for the safety of the royal family.”

            ‘ _Zarkon can freeze in space for all I care,_ ’ Thace thought. ‘ _Please just let my son be well_.’

            “Vrepmyza is also faring well,” the Ovate reported, turning towards the counter beside her and beginning to type up a report on the computer terminal there. Thace felt another rush of relief. “He’s in another wing – thankfully his port wasn’t damaged, so we were easily able to retrofit him with a new prosthetic.”

            “Thank you for letting me know,” Thace nodded, smiling kindly at the Druid. She returned his look and shut down the terminal, heading for the door.

            “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, sir,” the Ovate said. “I’ll be tending to Vrepmyza. Vrepit sa.”

            Thace thanked her once again and let her go, leaving the room behind her so that it didn’t appear that he intended to linger. Once she was gone he immediately returned to Keith’s side, reaching out and gathering up one of his son’s hands in his, smoothing back his bangs.

            Keith stirred, making a small noise as his eyes fluttered open, peered around groggily, and then shut again. Thace smiled gently, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead.

            “I am so proud of you, Keith,” he whispered. “What you did for Shiro was so brave – your mother would be proud of you, too.” Thace sniffed, smile growing a little wry, “She would have done the same thing – you really do take after her, you know.”

            Keith made a little noise halfway between a grumble and a mew, just barely squeezing Thace’s fingers in his own. Feeling misty-eyed, his father pulled away, gripping his son’s hand tightly one last time.

            “I love you so much, Keith,” Thace told him, settling Keith’s hand down onto the bed before standing to go. Lingering in the doorway, he took one last look over his shoulder at his sleeping son before returning to Annis, who was still picking idly around the room that he’d been left in.

            “Ready to go?” the commander asked, setting aside a jar of tongue depressors that he’d been digging through. Thace nodded and the pair took off, quickly coming across Merla, who was hovering in the hallway outside of the private ward, mask removed.

            “Well?” she inquired coldly, arching an eyebrow.

            “Everything seems in order,” Annis replied easily. “Thank you for accommodating us, we’ll show ourselves out.”

            Merla did not respond, merely fixing Thace and Annis with a glare as they made their way towards the entrance. Once they had proceeded through the building and towards the hangar, Annis glanced over at Thace, frowning concernedly.

            “This whole prince situation really has you upset,” he observed. “You got pretty close to the kid before you brought him here, huh?”

            Thace sighed, uncertain how to respond. Keith may have been his son, but had always been largely mistrusting towards Thace, even up until the reconditioning. He couldn’t profess to be terribly close to him, the majority of their interactions limited to terse conversations of necessity.

            “I care for his majesty very deeply,” Thace settled on, brow furrowed.

            Annis hummed in a noncommittal way, tapping his claws pensively on the rerebrace of his armor. However, he didn’t voice what he was thinking, instead looping an arm around Thace’s shoulder and leading him towards the upper tunnels of the hangar that made up the shuttle station. Once they arrived in the Residental Block, Thace kindly shook off several of Annis’ invitations to dinner and saw himself back to his apartment.

            Hands shaking, Thace headed immediately for his medicine cabinet, withdrawing a needle of Quintessence and nearly missing the proper injection site. Bracing his fist on his upper arm, he pressed the needle in, all but sighing in relief when the substance took hold. The rush of a full dose was all too good after myokokak of the miniscule amounts he’d taken from the small pill container he’d carried on him from his cell onto the Castle of lions.

            The Galra trudged back into his living room and collapsed gratefully on the couch, not even bothering to shed himself of his boots or armor. For once he kept the broadcast off, instead choosing to cover his eyes and breathe in the silence of his home. There was a dull buzz and idly his spare hand groped around for his hailer;  he turned away from the dark cup of his palm, the small screen displaying an innocuous text message.

            “ _whats up c:_ ”

            Despite himself, Thace smiled, flicked open the key board, and composed a short reply:

            “ _Hello Lance. I could certainly be better; I’m very tired.”_

            Lance’s response came shortly thereafter, “ _oh no what happened :c”_

            Thace took a moment to consider his answer. As badly as he wanted to have someone to speak to about his experiences, he couldn’t risk alerting Lance. If Team Voltron discovered the extent of what had just transpired on City Station, they’d undoubtedly be kicking the doors down as soon as they physically could. But Keith and Shiro had gone through too much to abort the mission. Although it wasn’t his place to call the mission off or not, with both the red and black paladins incapacitated, he had to make the executive decision to follow though. He opted for a neutral answer.

            “ _I’ve had a rough couple of days_.”

            “ _well u know where to find me if you need someone to talk to :D”_

            “ _Thank you Lance, I’ll be sure to remember that._ ”

“ _whats been going on? :o”_

            Thace hesitated once more, again unsure of how to respond.

            “ _The final arena match was especially difficult for Shiro and he was badly injured,_ ” Thace explained, conveniently leaving out the portion of the match where the black paladin was killed. “ _He’ll make a full recovery, but even in his fugue Keith was incredibly distraught._ ”

            “ _o man that’s pretty serious… but im glad that keith still cares for shiro so much even like that, hopefully it means he’ll wake up soon_?”

            “ _The feeling is mutual, kit,_ ” Thace tapped into the hailer. “ _How have your dealings with the Vol Alliance gone?”_

            “ _i mean p good considering? o’shetal was really welcoming and theyre pretty gung-ho about the whole thing – turns out like three paladins came from here! the first and second green and the second yellow, isnt that wild???_ ’

            There was a short pause between messages, “ _…they were like all over pidge_ ”

            Thace muffled a soft laugh into his palm before composing another text: “ _Hopefully you enjoyed your time on O’shetal. Stell’s climate is… not as agreeable._ ”

            “ _Oh I know >:c its hotter than heck here!!! the stellites arent too bad tho – theyre kinda stuffy but theyre friendly enough. allura’s talking to them, but it seems p likely that theyre gonna join the cause_”

Thace perked up, relieved to finally have received good news.

            “ _Excellent!_ ” he texted Lance. “ _They’ll be invaluable allies.”_

_“:D”_

Thace laughed at the text caricature, typing a farewell message: “ _Thank you for all of your hard work, Lance. Send my thanks to Princess Allura and the others as well_.”

            He hesitated, and then added: “ _Thank you for talking to me_.”

            “ _np my dude_!”

            “ _You take care, Lance_.”

            “ _you too <3_”

            Thace smiled, setting his hailer aside and relaxing into the comfort of his couch. “Things will be okay,” he coached himself, letting his eyes flutter shut. “Things will be okay.”

* * *

 

            Shiro jerked awake with a gasp, heart accelerating into his ears. He looked around wildly, the thrill of the fight still sharp in his veins. He could remember the bite of the arena, the melting snow beneath his feet as yet more poured from above. The tug of a hand woven through his hair, warm breath whispering against his ear. And then… he wasn’t quite sure what.

            _“Sendak,”_ he panted aloud, fingers clenching against the sheets. He frowned at the feel of them, looking down at himself and then to his surroundings. “Where…?” he muttered, trying to assess how he had gotten to where he was. A slight woman appeared to his left, her demeanor calming, and for once Shiro didn’t feel immediate fear at being in the presence of a Druid.

            “You’ve been out for a while, Vrepmyza,” she began kindly, standing beside the bed so he could better see her.

            “Where is this?” Shiro asked, picking at the soft white clothes he suddenly found himself in. “Some kind of hospital?”

            The Ovate paused at the word, thinking a moment as the translator provided her with a close equivalent. “It is the med bay, yes,” she confirmed, “Within the Druid’s compound in the Third Ring. You were moved here after the match last night.”

            “Last night,” Shiro repeated slowly. He couldn’t remember what had happened after Sendak had pinned him: how the rest of the match had played out, or the night, for that matter. The fact that he was breathing suggested that he had emerged victorious once more, but the circumstances surrounding his win were beyond him. He touched at his temple lightly, confused when he felt nothing unusual.

            “Did I hit my head?” he queried uncertainly. A concussion might explain the gap in his memory. Even still, minor brain damage was nothing the Galra had ever seemed to care about: Shiro could recount numerous occasions in which he had most likely suffered trauma during his Coliseum days, only compounded further by the intensity of his military training.

            “Well I wouldn’t say –,” the Ovate was responding, only to be cut off suddenly by Shiro.

            “Wait,” he stilled, pouring over the contents of his mind. He could recall everything. The horrors of the Coliseum with its night after night of endless fights. The way he had slowly shed his humanity, only to find acceptance in the most complete way he had ever known. The pride he had felt at being admitted to the ranks, the crisp press of his uniform as he donned it for the first time. A million moments more, each clearer than the last.

            “Vrepmyza?” the Druid asked tentatively.

            “Sorry,” Shiro returned, realizing how odd his behavior must seem. “I just… things feel different,” he settled on at last.

            _‘Why now?’_ he wondered in private. _‘What made me remember? Before I was just getting things back bit by bit, but this… this feels complete. How could this have happened?’_

            It was an uncomfortable feeling: thankfulness mixed with ambient regret. For so long Shiro had wanted to fill all the pieces in, to have a complete knowledge of his own biography, but now that he had it, he realized that there were some things he’d rather be left forgotten.

            He didn’t know how he’d handle it, either: there was no mistaking the fact that he had developed PTSD from his time as a captive; the lives he had taken driving him passed his breaking point. And yet there resurged memories of the Coliseum seeped in anticipation and enjoyment, memories that felt good at the time but were difficult to process in the present. While Shiro had accepted the parts of himself that were ugly, it was hard to begin reconciling the radically different memories that all shared space within his consciousness.

            The Druid leant over him in concern, pulling up a screen in midair and quickly observing his vitals. “Different, you say?” she pressed, “How is it that you feel different?”

            Shiro quieted, unsure how honest he should be. If Keith’s condition was anything to go off of, then the last thing the Galra Empire needed to know was that he was once again in full possession of his memories.

_‘Unless…’_ he realized with surprise, _‘They never realized I lost them in the first place?’_

            Suddenly it made sense. Zarkon had acted so ambivalently towards him due to his dual status as the black paladin and as a corporal in the Galra military. If he had never known that Shiro had lost his awareness of one of those roles, then he would have seldom to fear from a willing subordinate.

_‘That would also explain last night’s match,’_ Shiro discovered. _‘With the way the Chief Orchestrators arranged things, I was confident that I’d be put up against someone that I wouldn’t want to kill. And if they didn’t know that I had forgotten about…’_ he paused, the nature of his relationship with the commander messy at best.

            They had been close – far closer than he’d like to admit – sharing a torrid, twisted romance built on mutual antagonism and spite. Still, they had been compatible in a surprising number of ways and Shiro knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had been exclusive. As alien as the concept of a consenting hate-relationship was to Shiro, he knew it was perceived as perfectly normal by the Galra: it only made sense that the Chief Orchestrators would pit them against one another in a bid for heartbreaking television.

            “I think…” Shiro said at length, searching out an answer to the Druid’s question. His gaze settled upon his right arm, a new prosthetic fit into place. It wasn’t much different than his original – the same sleek white with black joints – but he could feel a difference in the weight, far more akin to that of his remaining limb. “I’m just trying to get accustomed to the new prosthetic,” he settled on.

            “Does it pain you?” the Druid worried.

            “No, not at all,” Shiro assured her. “It’s just an adjustment.”

            “It’s made from a highly durable yet lightweight material,” the Druid informed him. “We made the prince’s leg of the same composite.”

            The words took a moment to process.

_‘That’s right,’_ Shiro frowned, trying to conjure up the memory, _‘Keith was in the arena. Why was he there? He was only a few feet from me; I could see him reaching out for me. He was… bleeding. There was so much blood.’_

            “Is he alright?” Shiro asked insistently.

            “Quite,” the Ovate smiled tiredly, “We worked on the both of you through the night. It’s a small miracle, considering, but you’re both expected to make a full recovery.”

            “Can I see him?” Shiro pressed urgently.

            “I don’t see why not,” the Druid returned thoughtfully. “Although you’re both set for discharge –,” she paused, interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door. Without waiting for a response it swished open, admitting a sharply dressed private.

            “Oh,” the Ovate sighed in relief, “It’s just you, Avox.”

            The private relaxed at once, adopting an easy smile. “Morning, Zuna,” he greeted. “I’m here to escort Vrepmyza to the admiral’s office so he can receive his orders.” He looked over to Shiro, offering a small wave. Shiro awkwardly waved back, feeling uneasy.

            “Vrepmyza isn’t set to be discharged until this afternoon, along with His Majesty.”

            “Nothing for it,” the private shrugged. “The boss says to just send the paperwork over and it’ll be taken care of.”

            “Insistent as always,” Zuna pulled a face. “Still, the Druids don’t answer to the military without approval from the Mother of Constellations.”

            “Haggar’s cleared it,” Avox shook his head. “Right after Merla did, which was kinda insubordinate if you ask me.”

            “That’s troublesome,” the Ovate murmured, turning back to Shiro with a helpless shrug. “Well, it sounds like you’re free to go,” she instructed, folding back the covers for him. “There’s a locker for you in the corner over there,” she indicated, “It will have a fresh uniform inside, along with your boots.”

            “Thank you,” Shiro intoned, gingerly lifting himself from the bed. Taking a moment to dress, he joined Avox and bid farewell to the Ovate. The private led the way through the compound, dodging the suspicious looks of the Druids along the way.

            “Do something to make them distrust you?” Shiro muttered.

            “I hope not,” Avox laughed nervously, “I think they’re just unsettled right now; there’s been a bit of a shakeup in the military as it were.”

            “A shakeup?” Shiro inquired.

            “You’ll see,” the other shrugged dismissively. He navigated the last set of doors of the Druid compound with impatience, fingers drumming against his thigh. They exited out into a long hall flanked with doors: the offices of the commissioned members of the military.

            Shiro watched his companion subtly, noticing the frequent upward flicks of his near-invisible irises. Judging they were free of threat, Avox gave a brief tug at his sleeve, swiftly pouring into an abandoned room. Spare desks and fancy chairs littered the space, a defunct vending machine in one corner.

            “This should be safe,” Avox breathed, setting upon Shiro seriously. “I have a message for you from Thace.”

            “From Thace?” Shiro returned warily.

_‘This had better not be a trap,’_ he considered. _‘Some sort of undercover setup to get me to rat him out to Zarkon.’_

            “Yeah,” Avox continued, “Says he had some time to do some digging. On the people you asked about?”

            Shiro perked up, knowing instantly that he meant Matt and Samuel. Still, reservation checked him. _‘He still hasn’t said anything specific enough to trust. If my e-mail was intercepted then this could still be dangerous.’_

            Avox paused, pursing his lips in understanding. “You’re smart not to trust me,” he sighed. “You have every right; Thace said you were a sharp one. You and Keith both – yes, I know his real name,” he assured right as Shiro made to comment. “And I know that support is being rounded up as we speak to depose of our dear old emperor,” he chuckled.

            “You’re Vesh, aren’t you?” Shiro murmured.

            “Bingo,” Avox grinned. “Proud of it; shame that Mission Deadshot went as it did.”

            “The theatre?”

            “Yeah,” the private nodded solemnly. “Shame about Vektor, too. A single father and everything. It’s tragic. But wait, we don’t have time for idle chitchat – the admiral is waiting. Thace wanted this to be said in person so there was no digital trail. He says that the people you’re searching for are no longer on City Station or aboard the _Intrepid_. It’s not really clear what became of them, but they _were_ sold at some point. Problem is, it was done in cash, so while there’s a sale documented, there’s no transaction to follow.”

            Shiro exhaled slowly, biting a lip. Instinct made him fear for Matt and Samuel, but while anyone could have made the purchase, it was most likely a Galra and from what Shiro was coming to understand they were far from being all evil. He looked to Avox, who was still regarding him with a concerned expression.

            “Thank you,” he returned gratefully. “If Thace uncovers anything else, please pass it along.”

            “Absolutely,” Avox agreed, anxiously sending a look to the door. “You should go on ahead; the admiral said you could let yourself in.”

            Shiro nodded his understanding, thanking Avox again before steeling his reserve and reentering the hall. It didn’t take him long to find the correct door, the front clearly marked with large golden lettering. “Admiral,” the thick Galran characters read, the space below it chipped away.

            “Odd,” Shiro murmured, knocking at the door. It swung open slightly at the force, his presence clearly anticipated. Made uncomfortable, Shiro entered, closing the door behind him softly and making to announce himself.

            “Lance Corporal Shirogane reporting for… duty…” he trailed off, staring hard at the person before him. He had expected Admiral Tzen, her queue of white hair pulled over one shoulder as she regarded him with a firm expression. But someone else sat behind her desk, smirking up at him despite being in the midst of paperwork.

            “Surprised?” Sendak mused, looking back to the reports in his hands. He made a small sound of annoyance, scribbling his name at the bottom of the document and setting it aside.

            “You…” Shiro frowned, trying to put all the pieces together. “How are you here?” he spat out. “You should be… dead… right?”

            Sendak made an amused snort, leaning over his desk with fingers steepled.

            It was odd to see him in such a way, free of his armor with his undershirt rolled up to his elbows, fingers smudged with ink. Yet Shiro had had the privilege of seeing such a scene numerous times, the then-commander constantly complaining about the use of paper over tablets, even as it made the documents easier to leaf through. Shiro had been allowed in his office back then, having a small desk to himself that he rarely attended, the whole matter hotly contested by Lieutenant Commander Haxus.

            “Did you really expect me to lose?” Sendak quirked a brow, and Shiro was surprised to see that the cybernetic that had served as his right eye had been replaced with an elegant gold one that fit perfectly into the socket.

            _‘That’s right,’_ he recalled with some satisfaction. _‘The ice trap destroyed the other one.’_

“You’re saying that you won the match?” he voiced instead.

            “I did,” Sendak stated evenly.

            “That’s not possible,” Shiro refused, brows furrowed. “There’s no way they would have let us both out of there alive.”

            “They didn’t,” Sendak returned plainly. “I killed you.”

            Shiro stared at him in shock, completely unable to process the information. “What?” he heard himself say.

            “I killed you,” Sendak repeated. “As it turns out the prince was less than happy with the outcome. He had the Mother of Constellations revive you, at the cost of his own leg. A wonder that the Emperor allowed it at all. Consider yourself lucky, Vrepmyza.”

             “I do,” Shiro answered without hesitation. As surreal as the news was, it was beginning to make sense what had happened.

            _‘I couldn’t remember because I was dead,’_ he thought dazedly. _‘And that’s what Keith was doing on the ice, why he lost his leg. He did it to save me, in spite of his fugue.’_ The realization warmed him but he pushed the feeling aside, too invested in the man before him.

            “Alright,” Shiro pressed warily, “Providing that _is_ the case it still doesn’t explain how you got back to City Station. Last I recall you were placed in cryogenic sleep.”

            “No thanks to your entourage,” Sendak returned with a sneer. “I was found, as it were, by a Galra vessel and I was returned to City Station for processing. Of course there was great pressure to have me killed given the huge dishonor you did me,” he continued thinly, “But ultimately it was the emperor that decided that it would be a waste of entertainment to dispatch me so quickly. His mistake, really – and yours: thanks to you both I’m precisely where I want to be.”

            Shiro looked about the room with a raising sense of alarm. “Why _are_ you in Admiral Tzen’s office?” he asked slowly.

            Sendak laughed with a flash of teeth. “Because,” he explained, “ _I’m_ the admiral now.”

            “What?” Shiro repeated. “The terms of the match said that we were competing for the position of commander, not for the admiralcy.”

            “Tzen allowed the Emperor to become wounded in the skirmish with the d’Zahtvesh,” Sendak spelled out. “She failed to collect intelligence related to the attack and in so doing committed a grievous oversight, one that could have ended in assassination. Her fate was sealed from that moment on; the Emperor was merely waiting to have replacements lined up for his choosing.”

            “You killed her,” Shiro understood at once. “Even if you did restore your honor through victory, Zarkon would never have selected you.”

            “No, he wouldn’t have,” Sendak shrugged assuredly. “So I forced the situation.”

            “Not for the first time,” Shiro muttered.

            “Watch your tone _Lance_ Corporal,” Sendak stressed, expression turning suddenly. “I take it then that you remember?”

            “Yes,” Shiro grit out.

            He didn’t want to get into it. He realized belatedly that things had never properly ended between them: Sendak had been sent away on assignment and Shiro, having nothing left to tether him to the City Station, had set off in an attempt to get home. And then he had forgotten everything altogether, the impact of his crash landing likely obscuring the recent past from recall.

            But he had Keith now, and he was happy. Or, would be happy, were the both of them safe once more. He was a different person than he had been when he was with Sendak, after all, and his needs had changed in accordance. He could feel the admiral’s eyes on him, trying to judge where they stood.

            “Yes _what_?” Sendak returned evenly.

            Shiro suppressed a growl, forced by rank to acquiesce. “Yes, _sir_ ,” he repeated, wanting with every fiber of his being to wipe the smug look from the other man’s face. Sendak rose from behind his desk, extracting something from the top drawer and moving to stand before Shiro. The paladin held his ground, eyeing the admiral warily.

            “Lance Corporal Shirogane,” Sendak addressed, suddenly all business, “You are hereby readmitted into the Galra Imperial Forces with full honors. You will be expected to report in to me tomorrow morning at one myokven and two ven: do not be late.

            “Your armor is being sent to your apartment, as are additional fatigues. You should know by now the caliber at which you are expected to be dressed. In conjunction with this, you will be required to bear all symbols of status and rank when in uniform, as per royal mandate.”

            “Yes, sir,” Shiro confirmed thinly, his body naturally falling in attendance.

            “Good,” Sendak hummed, the stiffness of his shoulders dissipating. “Then this next part should be easy.”

            Shiro watched tensely as the admiral turned to the package in his hands, a clear packet backed in a gauzy material that contained a few metal hoops and what appeared to be a needle. “What’s that for?” he asked suspiciously. Sendak looked back to him, brow raised in challenge. “What’s that for, _sir_?” Shiro bit out.

            “Your piercings,” Sendak returned, peeling back the top of the package and making to upend it into his palm before thinking the better of it. He sighed thoughtfully, looking about his office. “Apparently you saw to it to remove them,” he continued, returning to his desk and sweeping a broad arm across it so that all his paperwork lumped precariously to one side. “As they denote your status, they must be redone,” he finished, patting the desk’s face. “Sit.”

            Shiro nodded stiffly in understanding. Ear piercings were not a statement of fashion within Galra culture, but rather something that was earned. Shiro had once had three rings high in the cartilage of his left ear: one for every fifty kills in the arena. Prior to leaving he had been working on his fourth.

            _‘I don’t want to show that off,’_ he thought with distaste as he approached the desk, _‘Not anymore.’_ But he was just as bound by regulation as Sendak was, and he knew the matter was unavoidable. He could worry about the moral gravity later.

            He set himself atop the worn face of the desk, scooting backwards until the backs of his knees met with the front edge and trying not to think of the last time he’d been in such a position. Sendak ignored him, opening the package the rest of the way and setting it carefully beside Shiro’s thigh before slipping on gloves fit only for a Galra. Shiro waited impatiently, taking the antiseptic pad and wiping it over his own ear, feeling the bumps were the cartilage had healed over. Neither of them was looking at the other.

            “I’m the only one fit to do this,” Sendak murmured, toying with the needle.

            “I know,” Shiro replied shortly.

            “Do you wish to do it yourself?”

            “No.”

            There was a pause between them, brimming with uncertain meaning.

            “Why?” Sendak asked at last.

            “I don’t trust myself to get it right.”

            “So you’ve said.”

            Shiro just nodded. He knew why Sendak had to be the one to pierce him. There was a second kind of ear piercing the Galra revered, and that was the lobes – or, rather, the small flap of skin that formed a pouch along the rim of the ear, as it stood for the Galra. This location was nearly sacred, a space reserved only for those in committed pairs to indicate their dedication to one another, not unlike a wedding ring. As such, it was seen as highly indecorous for any Galra to pierce the ears of someone who they were not involved with – regardless of where the placement was; it was just seen as too intimate. No one would be willing to do the service for him, and Shiro himself wasn’t comfortable with the procedure. Which left only Sendak.

            The admiral carefully fit the needle against the scars of Shiro’s prior piercings, for once devoid of his usual dark humor. Carefully he set about the work, threading the needle through the cartilage only to chase it with a ring, the metal fitting together seamlessly as he pressed the ends into place. Shiro fought the urge to touch at his ear, the skin around the piercings radiating heat and stinging. He knew from experience that laying on them would be impossible and hoped that the Quintessence still in his system might amend it.

            Sendak finished quietly, fingers ghosting the curvature of Shiro’s ear as he pulled away, gaze looked pointedly elsewhere. He collected the trash and stripped himself of the gloves, nodding for Shiro to remove himself from his desk. Striding across the room to a glass faced cabinet, Sendak extracted a hailer, something smaller fitting beneath it in the cup of his palm.

            “Sir?” Shiro prompted, curious as the admiral returned to his side.

            “It has come to my attention that you are without a means of communication,” Sendak answered stiffly, offering the device. “This hailer may be used for personal use, but it is expected that you prioritize any and every transmission you receive from your commanding officers.” He paused, studying Shiro closely before adding, “Being government property, all activities on this device will be monitored.”

            “Understood,” Shiro returned softly.

_‘What does he mean by_ that _?’_ he wondered. _‘If he was on to me then why would he be giving me a warning?’_ He didn’t want to consider the possible motives.

            Sendak fiddled with the item left in his hands: a small lacquered pin in the shape of a blue flower, white emanating from its center. Wordlessly he took one of Shiro’s hands, pressing it into his palm. “Keep a hold of this,” he said gruffly, closing Shiro’s fingers around the pin.

            “What is it?” Shiro asked as the admiral receded, returning to his desk and immersing himself in his paperwork as though he’d never been interrupted in the first place. Sendak made an amused hum, lips curling into an eager sneer. When he spoke, his tone was dark and promising, devoid entirely of the emotiveness it held only moments prior.

            “You’ll know when the time comes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what'd you think?
> 
> Moosey wrote the first bit with Thace and I think it's really sweet: he's a dad through and through. He's been through so much: someone just needs to give this poor man a hug!
> 
> So this is the first time we get to see Shiro and Sendak interacting with one another in private. I hope everything in those passages made sense and continued to feel in character. Writing Sendak in particular was fun but also a challenge: he's a bastard at best but he is multidimensional and there was clearly SOME aspect of his personality that attracted Shiro to him. He's in the most awkward position right now, trying to maintain professionalism while trying to get a feel of where things stand between he and Shiro. They are very much awkward with one another right now, haha.
> 
> Also! Shiro has regained his full range of memories! Why? Well that will be explained in the near future.
> 
> Most all of you were pretty surprised and indignant that Shiro died, albeit briefly. Granted, there was reason for this: Shiro either had to fight someone who he could kill that wouldn't be integral to the plot or he would have to die by the hand of someone new who would be a part of the plot. There would have been no point in introducing Sendak only to kill him in one chapter so Shiro had to (temporarily) die. A lot of folks suggested that Thace would be Shiro's final opponent, which would have been completely devastating. The problem with this, however, would be that Thace would purposefully end the fight in Shiro's favor if you get me. There's no way he would endanger the mission or force Shiro's hand: he would simply take himself out of the equation in a last bid to protect both Shiro and Keith. All this said, too, of course, meaning that Sendak will continue to be a part of this series and will have roles integral to the plot. His motivations will be explained over time but by and large you can count on him being self-serving.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed the new chapter; Moosey and I look forward to hearing from you!  
> <3 Ches


	14. Witnessed

          “I love you so much, Keith.”

          ‘ _Dad_?’ Lo thought distantly, already missing the warm squeeze around his fingers. He stirred, unsure as to why the thought had crept into his head. Even halfway unconscious he was able to identify that the voice decidedly did not belong to Zarkon and yet—

          “Come back,” Lo mumbled, the words tumbling out of his mouth as an indistinct slur. But whoever had been holding his hand was long gone, leaving Lo to the quiet bleat of machines. Quiet dark washed over him again, voices bubbling in and out of his consciousness. He could feel himself snoring softly, sniffing into awareness and peering around the sterile room before shutting his eyes again. Eventually he was propped up, something clamped over his bicep squeezing uncomfortably.

          “Ow,” he croaked, eyelids finally light enough to keep open. He stared at the person hovering beside him, a Galra woman dressed in a white bodysuit with a clear plastic mask covering the lower part of her face.

          “Good evening your majesty,” she greeted him, removing the cuff from his arm and tapping the results into a projected screen floating above him. “How are you feeling?”

          ‘ _Like shit_ ,’ the prince thought, squeezing his eyes closed and attempting to puzzle out what was unfolding around him. There was a fight, a snap, a ripping pain frayed out by shock—

          “ _Shiro_!” Lo called out, all but ejecting himself into a sitting position. He lunged for the sheets, struggling out of the bed and against the surprisingly strong hands that firmly pushed against his shoulders in response.

          “Prince! You’re still heavily sedated—,” his caretaker argued, her face stormy with concern.

          “ _Shiro_!” he repeated desperately, unbidden by her words. He scrambled for purchase on her wrists, grappling with her to no avail. There was a deep ache in his thigh, hips trembling as he fought against it. “I have to help him – he’s hurt – he’s –.”

          “Vrepmyza has recovered,” she explained, finally pressing him back into the bed. Lo blinked at her with wide eyes, her words slowly processing in his hazy mind. “He was discharged earlier today.”

          “So he’s…” Lo whispered and – despite himself – he felt his eyes grow heavy with tears. The Druid smiled and nodded, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.

          “The Mother was especially giving, reuniting you with your champion,” she explained, turning back to one of her projections. She glanced at him warmly. “Although his wellbeing is due in no small part to you – your sacrifice was…” she trailed off, shaking her head kindly. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Your Majesty.”

          “Sacrifice?” Lo mouthed, still squinting through the fog of memories. Haggar’s twisted form lingered in the peripherals of his mind’s eye, everything else enveloped in Shiro bathed in a warm aureate glow – the color returning to his skin and the breath raising his chest.

          Delicately, the Druid dropped her fingertips to his side, folding the warm sheet in two to reveal the expanse of his leg – or what had once been it. Lo felt his stomach bottom out, trembling fingertips reaching out to brush the sleek ivory surface of the prosthetic. It felt strange under his touch – almost like warm porcelain humming with energy from within. The calf was cut through with a sleek, aerodynamic curve, as was the sole of the foot. He pressed his fingers into the material, surprised to feel that the sensation still carried along his nerves. Lo gave an experimental roll of his ankle, bending his knee and extending the leg out as far as it could go.

          “It’s fully functional,” his nurse explained. “If you ever want to change it out for aesthetic purposes, it can easily detach from the port; but this model is made to withstand just about anything, and its lightweight to boot.”

          Lo rubbed along the port as she pointed it out, wincing as he felt the tender, scarred flesh.

          “It should be sore now, but with the amount of Quintessence we gave you, you should be up and walking soon with minimal discomfort,” she replaced the blanket. “You should be—.”

          “Knock knock?” a tentative voice interrupted, and both Lo and his nurse glanced to the door of his room.

          Cora was draped in the doorway, looking like an absolute wreck. Her eyes were deeply set with circles of insomnia, hair sticking out at odd angles, and above her rumpled uniform she wore a massively oversized formal military coat. Peering through the window was Vespi, accompanied by the member of the royal guard who Lo recognized as Nylan.

          “Cora,” Lo smiled, relieved to see a familiar face. His attendant strolled through the room slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed and reaching out for his hand.

          “Heard you got a new leg,” Cora began conversationally, smoothing her thumb over the rise of his fingers. She used her spare hand to knock on her right thigh, the soft metal noise reverberating throughout the room. “Looks like we match.”

          Lo stared at her dizzily, her words slugging through his brain like molasses, “They cut off your _leg_?”

          A grin blossomed over Cora’s tired features and she laughed, shaking her head. “Wow, you are _out_ of it, huh? No, it’s a preexisting condition.”

          “Oh…” Lo said lamely, resting his head back into the pillow. “I am on a lot of drugs.”

          “Yes you are,” his nurse confirmed sweetly before turning to Cora. “But thankfully they’ll completely wear off within the hour. Are you here to bring him home?”

          “Sure am,” Cora replied. The Druid nodded and withdrew what looked like a pair of obscenely large dinner plates from below the counter, placing them at a right angle from one another in the approximation of a chair. The plates floated several feet off of the ground and before Lo knew it, he was being scooped up by the Druid and placed onto them. The plates bobbed awkwardly, Lo nearly slumping off of them before Cora and his nurse jumped to support him on either side, leaning the majority of his weight on the handmaiden.

          “Here, let me get him,” someone said, and then Nylan had inserted an arm between Lo and Cora, using her superior size and strength to scoop the prince up like a kitten. Lo felt the urge to protest for all of three seconds before realizing that he was definitely not stable enough to be on the chair. The Druid stored it away, supplying Cora with all the correct information for Lo’s recovery.

          During the exchange, Vespi had wandered in, gently addressing the prince: “Is there anything I can get you, your majesty?”

          “Can I see Shiro?” he asked dizzily, gently pawing at Nylan’s chest plate in order to get her attention.

          “The Champion? Like I said, he was discharged earlier,” the nurse responded. “Let’s get you home before you worry about anything else, shall we?”

          The other women in the room assented, led out of the private ward by the Druid and towards the building’s entrance. Before stepping out of the building, Lo squirmed in Nylan’s arms until she set him down, allowing him to shuffle forward. The nurse offered an arm to steady the prince as he took a hesitant step forward, gingerly testing the way he bore his weight on his new limb. It immediately smarted, but not enough to prevent him from walking. They resolved to stay in the Druid’s compound for a few more moments while the prince tested his new limb.

          ‘ _Shiro_ …’ he thought distantly, mind straying back to the champion as he made his way down the hallway. His whole mind was enveloped in him. Every warm and unguarded smile, each familiar touch, every stunned grin, all of his kind and patient words – Lo couldn’t have helped but fall for him. He was absolutely certain where his affections had landed, and was sure they had been resting there for some time – from before he’d lost his memories of his days spent with the paladins. More than anything he wanted to reach out and kiss Shiro, brush their lips together, breathe in his amazing, _living_ heat.

          ‘ _He’s endured so much,_ ’ Lo marveled. ‘ _He deserves to live and to live well. No one will ever take that from him again_.’

          “You doing alright, Lo?” Cora quipped with an odd tone, drawing him out of his thoughts. She didn’t sound upset but rather she seemed wary. “We’ve got to get you back home.”

          “Yeah,” Lo agreed with a terse nod. Vespi presented him with a cloak, which he wrapped around the loose cotton pants and shirt that the druids had dressed him in, and they set off.

          As they traveled back towards the palace, Nylan and Cora flanked him closely as they walked, quickly moving at every stumble or hesitation. With the festivities over, there weren’t half as many spectators as before, just curious glances from civilians as they boarded the private shuttle that returned them to the First Ring. Everyone around him seemed pensive, the atmosphere eerily calm. Even the usually-chatty Cora was silent, her eyes turned down into her lap where she passed her hailer from hand to hand. The tense air around him only seemed to amplify as they approached the palace, Nylan and Vespi parting from Lo and Cora in order to return to their duties.

          Arms still steadying the prince, the handmaiden drew him around the side of the palace towards the courtyard instead of the grand foyer. He peered at her curiously, but Cora’s terse expression brooked no argument. She guided him below a trellis sealed away from the rest of the garden by the thick vines that dripped from them and then took a moment to look around, obviously attempting to discern the extent of their privacy.

          “What’s going on?” Lo asked testily, quickly having grown suspicious at the strange behavior. Cora sighed, drawing the oversized coat tighter around her and meeting the prince with a serious look.

          “I don’t think you understand the extent of what you did,” she told him. “You publically disobeyed the emperor on a _massive_ scale, and showed clear preference and affection for a non-Galra.”

          Lo flushed, glancing away – he hadn’t even thought of the consequences, having been consumed with protecting Shiro and ensuring his safety. Of course his father would be mad, especially since his son had managed to one-up him at his games, forcing the emperor’s hand to appease the masses.

          “He may have given you a ‘gift’ to look good, but I know you’re aware he isn’t _that_ charitable,” Cora frowned, touching Lo’s arm importantly. “Frankly I’m surprised that he did that much for you – anyone else would’ve been executed on the spot. The fact that he’s making these sorts of political moves speaks to the severity of the situation.”

          “Severity?” Lo repeated, brows furrowed.

          “He’s afraid, Lotor,” Cora said firmly. “The people are seeing a strong, kind, selfless leader in you and you can bet your ass that they want you on the throne instead of that megalomaniacal bastard.”

          Lo couldn’t tell if the color was draining from his face or rising to his cheeks. He stared at Cora in disbelief.

          “But I’m—,” he began, licking his lips and shaking his head firmly. “I wasn’t _trying_ to make a political statement. Shi— _Vrepmyza_ didn’t deserve to die, he didn’t—.”

          Cora cut him off with a swift shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Whether it was for his sake, your sake, or a political statement you still risked your life to bring back the people’s hero. As a non-Galra he represented a lot to the other non-Galra and Galra of mixed heritage, especially under Zarkon’s rule—.”

          “But he’s _not_ a symbol, he’s a _person_!” Lo argued roughly.

          “You’re right, but not everyone sees him that way,” Cora sighed, looking genuinely upset by this fact. “To everyone else he’s a political plaything,” she took in the prince’s expression mixed with equal parts anguish and rage. “I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

          Lo barked a laugh, disgust having since long boiled up into his chest, stinging his eyes. “Yeah,” he spat, clenching shaking fists at his sides.

          Cora released another heavy breath, raking a claw through her unwashed bob of white hair, “The emperor won’t let you see Shiro again.”

          Lo flinched as if she’d struck him with her words, glancing harshly to the side as his jaw worked stiffly.

          “The pair of you are a political nightmare in his eyes – you’re strong against him by yourselves, but together you stand a genuine chance at rallying the people behind you. So… Zarkon gave everyone in the household strict orders to keep you two separated; he wanted me to relay as much to you,” she explained. “But I think that’s horseshit so…”

          Cora trailed off and glanced over her shoulder, “Just… don’t leave your room today, okay?” She looked at him meaningfully, expression soft. “I’m going to find him right now and give him a way to get in through the staff entrance. You deserve a chance to say goodbye.”

          There was something in those exact words that made Lo want to cry – having literally brought Shiro back from death only to have him taken away once more was unbearable. Just the bittersweet potential in that final meeting was enough to drag him back into misery. But he bit back the feelings almost immediately. It wasn’t about him. It was about Shiro, and Shiro getting to live his life as he deserved to. If staying apart from him was enough to keep him from dying again—

          ‘ _Like hell_ ,’ an almost-unfamiliar voice bit through Lo’s mind. ‘ _Like hell I’ll let Zarkon use Shiro against me – to keep me subjugated and chained up like a prisoner. I’ll never let Shiro be used as a pawn again.’_

          Seeing the prince’s expression, a grin crept up the side of Cora’s mouth. She gripped his shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. They entered the palace through a side door, Cora quietly depositing Lo in his apartment before she made to leave through the servant’s quarters. She paused on the threshold, glancing back at him.

          “I’ll let everyone know you’re resting, so you don’t have to worry about being bothered,” she informed him with a wry little smile. “There’s food and water here in the cooler in case you get hungry.”

          “Thanks,” Lo returned her smile with a soft one of his own, feeling nervous despite himself. Cora excused herself, leaving the prince to his own thoughts. Sighing, he stripped himself of the coarse pajamas he wore, tossing them in a heap at the foot of the bed.

          Lo wandered into the bathroom, starting up and stepping under the warm squall of water that fell from the ceiling and into the shower. He used the provided soap to scrub away the sterile scent of the healing ward, deeply glad to be rid of it. After abusing the drying cubby for several more minutes than he ought to have, the prince brushed out his hair and headed into the closet to find something comfortable to wear.

          As he fidgeted with the controls, Licorice the mouse made his reappearance, popping out of a shelf full of scarves and stretching luxuriously next to Lo’s feet. The prince smiled at him, finally coming across a rack of lounge clothes. He selected a cowled black sweater, pair of knee-high socks, and matching shorts, hardly in the mood to put in the effort to wear real pants. Besides, if this was going to be one of his last times seeing Shiro—

          He refused to let himself follow the train of thought, scooping Licorice up into his palms. He deposited the mouse on the bed and settled down beside it, running his hand over the stretch of his prosthetic that disappeared below one of the socks. He held the port that the new leg emerged from, bowing his head down to touch his brow to the porcelain-like knee.

          ‘ _This part of me is gone now_ ,’ he thought, gripping the limb and smoothing his hands up and down its stockinged length. Even though he was still able to feel sensation under his fingertips, the limb felt foreign in his grip. It was definitely going to take some getting used to.

          Idly he curled up under the covers, adjusting the pillows as he liked them and drawing up the projection of the televisions screen, skimming through what had to be a hundred almost-identically worded messages wishing him a speedy recovery. The only sincere mail that Lo had received had been from Maray, of all people; the events coordinator had offered a myriad of kind words and promised to bring the prince a jar of guamnop marmalade canned by their family on Gal. Smiling, the prince composed a quick reply of thanks before switching to the broadcast, heart almost stopping.

          There was an odd sense of detachment as he viewed himself collapsing to his knees in the center of the arena, blood darkening his clothes and snow alike as he and Shiro were wrapped in light. He flipped through the channels, finding that almost every news station was relaying accounts of the event.

          Cora had been right; he and Shiro were causing a public stir.

          Lo shut off the broadcast and eased onto his back, mindful not to put too much weight on his achy thigh. He fiddled with the controls, dimming the lights to a pleasantly dull glow and rifling through a selection of odd-sounding music, finally settling on a station that seemed to broadcast nothing but the distant sound of soft rain. Licorice curled up next to his cheek, releasing a little mousy sigh and falling into a gentle doze. Lo felt himself be pulled into half-consciousness by the warmth of his bed and the soft noises and light that filled the room.

* * *

          There was a light click from the dining room and Lo sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Licorice scurried off of his pillow, frightened by the sudden noise, and disappeared under the bed. He stared across the cut of the bedroom and dining room to the servants’ entrance, where Shiro had just quietly stepped in.

          “ _Shiro_ ,” he breathed in relief, making to scramble out from under the covers. The champion raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head.

          “Don’t get up, you’re hurt—,” he began, only to sigh and fix the prince with a begrudging smile as Lo crossed the room towards him.

          “Don’t care, I can hardly feel it anymore,” Lo smiled, reaching up to wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck, burying his face in the soldier’s fatigues. The warmth that seeped through him and into Lo’s own body was enough to make him slump in relief, eyes prickling despite himself. “You had it much worse, anyway.”

          Shiro responded by wrapping his arms around Lo in turn, smoothing a large hand over the curve of his spine and pressing him closer. Lo produced a happy trill, feeling his Altean marks glow with the heat of his blush.

          “Thank you,” Shiro replied, his voice hoarse in the prince’s ear. “I… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to properly convey to you—.”

          “No,” Lo cut him off with a sharp shake of his head, pulling back and holding Shiro’s face in his hands. “Don’t even think about it, I don’t want to hear it. The fact of the matter is that you’re _here_ and you’re _alive_ like you deserve,” the prince shook his head again, face contorting in disgust. “You never deserved to be treated like a _thing_ , you’re…”

          He sobered, expression softening, “You’re too good for that. How could I deny the world to you? How could _anyone_?”

          “Keith…” Shiro’s breath was soft and he reached up, fingers hesitating over Lo’s cheek, twitching as he decided against touching the prince. Lo caught his hand before he pulled it away, using both of his to press Shiro’s palm against his cheek, nuzzling against it.

          “That’s my name, isn’t it?” he asked, smile sweet. Shiro’s eyes widened in shock. “The one you knew me by.”

          “Yes,” Shiro confirmed with a nod. “Did you… do you remember it?”

          Lo squinted, distorted fractions of noises playing through his mind. He glanced down, shaking his head uncertainly, “I… I don’t know. It just – it feels right, especially when coming from you.”

          He fixed Shiro with another kind look, resisting the urge to brush his lips against the champion’s palm. Shiro’s expression mirrored his own, but there was a cloudy quality to his grey eyes – the affection was there, but marred with some greater weight. Lo furrowed his brow.

          “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out and brushing his fingertips against Shiro’s cheek. He ducked into the sensation, brow scrunching as if he were craving the physical comfort, but constantly denied it to himself.

          “I remembered something… really difficult today,” Shiro admitted, stormy eyes flicking open. Lo felt himself crumple in pain before rage flared up in his gut.

          “If it’s about the army, don’t blame yourself for whatever those fuckers made you do,” the prince hissed, drawing a shocked expression from Shiro. “What?”

          “That was…” he hesitated, gently squeezing Lo’s cheek beneath his hand. “That sounded so much like the old you.”

          “The person I was before they brought me here,” it didn’t have to be a question. Lo already knew the answer. Even as he and Shiro spoke, the story was still unraveling – all the things that Shiro had said and reminded him of contradicted the murky story that the prince had woken up with. The memories of a red dessert stretched out beneath a pale sky, Shiro’s assurance that the green paladin had loved him even when he’d left team Voltron, the warmth and familiarity with which he and the champion treated one another. It was all indicative of one thing: Lo wasn’t who he thought he was.

          “Yes,” Shiro confirmed softly, although his eyes were still alight with hope. Just the promise of his friend’s return was enough to battle away the weight of the day. Lo screwed his eyes up, trying to force the memories to come, trying to think of a single instance that gripped him—

          But whatever inkling memory he’d managed to affix himself to was already dissolving in the water of his mind, thinned out and unfurling like wet paint. He growled in frustration.

          “ _Please_ help me remember,” Lo said, frustration manifesting in tears on his lash line. He scoffed, hating himself for the childish reaction. But in knowing all that had been taken from Shiro, what had transpired for both of them in the past several days, he couldn’t help the tears from dribbling down his cheeks. He was too tired to hold them in. “You were so important to me – I _know_ you were important to me. What was I to _you_?”

          Shiro looked at Lo, mouth opening but failing to produce any sort of sound. He didn’t have to say anything. The pain in Shiro’s expression, the way he held Lo, the melted look he’d send his way when he thought Lo was distracted: it was all indicative of one thing.

          “You loved me,” Lo intoned very softly, and from the desperation on Shiro’s face he didn’t need to ask for confirmation. Lo gently released the other, drawing his hands close to his chest, feeling a high, keening pain working up there. Bright like a flash on the dull side of a blade. “You were in love with me,” he repeated brokenly. “And that person’s gone now.”

          “ _Keith_ ,” Shiro was upon on him in an instant, no hesitation this time when he wrapped his hands around Lo’s next to his chest. “You’re not gone – you never were. This whole time we’ve been here I’ve just been,” he licked his lips, struggling for his next words. “I’ve been beside myself because you’re so… _unchanged_. I have to stop myself from reaching out for you, from touching you like I usually do, or even telling you that I love you because you _are_ the same person I fell in love with, but you just don’t remember.

          “Keith,” Shiro said, voice unwavering. “I will always love you no matter what.”

          No matter what.

_“You stuck with me no matter what.”_

_“My feelings are the same no matter what.”_

_"I’ll come back to you no matter what.”_

_“And I always will be no matter what.”_

_“I love you no matter what.”_

          Keith’s vision whited out along the edges, arms falling limply to his sides. It wasn’t a torrent of information or memories beyond the echoes of those words. They’d fired through his synapses, crackling a glass wall and allowing him access to the information that had been there all along. Quietly, suddenly. It was just… there.

          Shiro was starting at him in concern, completely unaware that anything odd had transpired. Keith released a breath, which was exhaled as a little laugh of disbelief.

          “Keith…?” Shiro began to ask, but was quickly cut off as his boyfriend barreled into his chest.

          “ _Takashi!_ ” Keith shouted much too loudly for a meeting that was supposed to be completely clandestine. He pressed himself up against Shiro, hands balling in the fabric of his fatigues, exhausted and overjoyed tears spilling from his eyes.

          “Takashi… Takashi…” he babbled, memorizing his scent, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s chest, feeling his shocked breath make it rise and fall. Turning his head to press furred ear up against Shiro’s heart, he could’ve collapsed in relief at the sound that reverberated through his skin. Takashi. Alive and warm and they were _together_ and that was almost too much to bear.

          He finally pulled away, knowing that his face was an absolute tearstained wreck, completely crumpled under the onslaught of emotion. Shiro was staring at him with hopeful eyes, holding Keith up in trembling hands. Keith coughed a laugh through his tears, sniffing loudly as he reached out to stroke Shiro’s cheek, smiling sweetly.

          “I’m here,” he choked, almost overcome by another wave of tears. “Takashi, I’m here with you.”

          “…Keith?” Shiro whispered, the hope blossoming over his features. He was making that face: the one that completely melted Keith’s insides, like Shiro was seeing the most precious thing in the galaxy. “You’re… back?”

          Keith nodded vigorously, pawing at his face in an attempt to wipe off the evidence of his gross sobbing, “I’m back, I’m here… _Takashi_.”

          “ _Keith_.”

          They were pressing one another so close, arms gripped over each other, around chests and necks, hands trailing over faces in a rush of catharsis. The desperation behind the pressure of their touches combined with the impossible struggle to get closer together. They weren’t close enough. They needed to be closer.

          “Takashi,” Keith repeated like it was the only word he knew, still pinned close to Shiro’s chest, but gazing up at him all the same. Shiro was still smiling at him, mouth working silently through a series of aborted sentences.

          “ _Keith_ ,” he finally sighed, and their lips were together, and together, and together, and together. They could hardly breathe between the sweet press of their kisses, emitting nothing more than happy noises and little laughs. Keith held Shiro’s face tightly between his hands, recalling the unnatural curve of his neck, the matte glaze over his grey eyes—

          “I love you, I love you,” he began to repeat stupidly through their kisses, unable to do anything but ramble through the onslaught of emotions.

          “I love you, love you,” Shiro whispered back to him, lapsing into Japanese. “愛してるよ.”

          Keith laughed, recognizing the first phrase, but still allowing it to melt him, “You sap.”

          Shiro kissed him again, softly repeating himself for emphasis:  “愛してるよ.”

          They were breathing now, just touching one another, soaking in the other’s presence. Keith sniffed wetly, rubbing his palm over his eye.

          “God, I must look like shit right now…” he laughed. Shiro shook his head, kissing Keith’s cheek before pulling back to admire him.

          “No, actually you look… _really_ ,” he trailed his eyes over Keith’s lithe form, a visible look of wanting and appreciation crossing his features. Keith grinned – even in a fugue state he’d dressed exactly in the way Shiro liked. He supposed he had been attempting to seduce him with the outfit after all.

          “See something you like?” Keith inquired huskily, gasping softly as Shiro lowered himself to his knees. His right hand gently wrapped around Keith’s left thigh, the other slowly working down the sock over the prosthetic. Shiro’s face was still tender, if mournful as he regarded the new limb, running his palm down the length before pressing a ginger kiss to the knee.

          “Does it hurt?” he asked softly, peering up at Keith from below his white fringe. Keith shook his head ‘no’.

          “Just a little – it’s been wearing off since I woke up,” he explained, carding a hand through Shiro’s hair. It slipped down the side of Shiro face and around the curve of his jaw. The black paladin looked up at him with reverence.

          “I’m so sorry I lost, Keith,” he whispered, leaning heavily into Keith’s palm. A tear slid down his cheek and into Keith’s hand, quickly followed by another. “I failed the mission, I failed _you_ —.”

          “You _risked your life_ for the mission, Shiro,” Keith snapped, resting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders and lowering himself down to his height. “You _died._ I should be the one apologizing, I should have done something sooner, I could have stopped it—.”

          “You know you couldn’t have,” Shiro replied sadly, wrapping his arms around Keith and kissing the expanse of hair between his ears. “And what you did for me Keith… the sacrifice you made. You could have died, too.”

          “I don’t care.”

          “ _Keith_!”

          “I _don’t_ , Shiro!” Keith argued, pulling away and grimacing at the other paladin. “I don’t care if I died if it meant you got to live on. I didn’t make this sacrifice because I wanted you back, I did it so that you could _live_. You deserve to live so much, Takashi. You never deserved any of this…”

          “Even,” Shiro licked his lips, glancing away. “Even knowing what I’ve done? I _killed Matt_ Keith, I’ve… I’ve _slaughtered_ hundreds of people and I hardly felt anything for it. I _enjoyed_ it Keith – my first season in the coliseum I relished in the bloodshed. I joined the military, climbed the ranks, I _fucked Sendak and liked it,_ and I—.”

          He choked on whatever he was going to say next, closing his eyes and turning his head away from Keith as he grimaced at some painful memory.

          “Keith, I’m not… I’m not _good_ ,” he bit out. “I’m not… there’s so much more in me than I ever thought—.”

          “But would you do it again?”

          Shiro turned to Keith, who was staring at him evenly, “What?”

          “Would you do it again?” Keith posed once more. “Do you _want_ to be a part of the Galra military? Do you _want_ to be the champion – to slaughter people in the ring?”

          Shiro looked horrified, “ _No_. God, Keith, no. I never want to do that again, I—.”

          Keith took him gently by his Galra hand, cutting Shiro off as he kissed his knuckles, pressing the warm prosthetic to his cheek and nuzzling it again. “Then there’s no problem,” he said softly. “I accept what you’ve done, Takashi. I’m not… naïve enough to think that you’re completely unchanged or that you haven’t done some fucked-up things but…”

          Keith reached out for his cheek, “I accept _you,_ Takashi.” He drew his boyfriend close, closing his eyes as he leaned in for a kiss, “For everything you are and were.”

          The sweet noise Shiro made into his mouth could’ve shattered Keith anew. Keith’s hands slid over his shoulders, holding Shiro tightly against him as their kisses slowed, lips parting and accepting in blissful sighs and little gasps. Shiro dragged the tip of his tongue along the roof of Keith’s mouth, the Galra shivering in his arm as he sucked on the appendage greedily, still needing more of Shiro around him, _in_ him—

          He pulled Shiro down over him, groaning contentedly as his boyfriend straddled his hips, gently settling his weight upon him as to not disturb his injured leg. Shiro set upon Keith’s neck hungrily, lips and tongue laving over the jointure of his neck and shoulder, large hand pushing the cowl aside as he sought access to more of his skin. Keith moaned appreciatively, bucking up against Shiro and sliding their groins together, issuing a note of arousal from his boyfriend’s throat.

          “ _Please let me take care of you, I want to touch more of you,”_ Shiro thought to Keith, and his warm presence in Keith’s mind reverberated through him, sending his own want deep into Keith, who reflected it back into Shiro enthusiastically.

          “ _Yes_ ,” he thought back and Shiro’s hands snuck under the hem of his sweater, tugging down the shorts beneath and groaning as Keith parted his legs invitingly, Shiro immediately laying kisses upon his inner thighs.

          Keith threw back his head with an appreciative moan, fingers tunneling through Shiro’s hair, already gasping his name sweetly.

          And then the staff door opened.

          Keith froze, horror plummeting down his sternum and landing in his stomach like a cold marble. Shiro pulled off of him immediately, using his torso to shield Keith from view as he turned to glance over his shoulder, chest still heaving in a mix of arousal and horror.

          Vespi stood in the doorway, the tray of snacks she held trembling violently as she regarded the scene before her with large, black eyes. The three stared at one another for a solid two seconds before the maid dropped the tray to the ground with a massive crash, juice and crackers spilling out into the dining room. She then turned on her heel and proceeded to sprint down the hallway.

          “Shit, _shit_ —!” Keith spat, untwisting from Shiro before scrambling for his shorts and hitching them up over his hips. “ _Vespi!_ ”

          “I’ll go after her—,” Shiro began, making to stand up.

          “ _No,_ ” Keith said firmly, grabbing Shiro by the arm. “If you get found down here they’ll probably take you _right_ to Zarkon. You have to leave.”

          “I’m not leaving you—.”

          “No. No arguing,” Keith insisted, pulling himself back up onto his knees and wincing when the prosthetic started. “ _Shit_!”

          “Keith!” Shiro reached for him, the red paladin shaking his head violently.

          “Please go!” he insisted, squeezing Shiro’s wrist. “ _Please_.”

          Shiro glanced around anxiously, pressing a final kiss to Keith’s lips. “I _will_ see you again,” he promised, standing to go. “I love you, Keith.”

          “I love you too, Takashi,” Keith smiled, although it felt like torture to have to watch Shiro go.

          Keith sat on the floor for another few minutes, panting and raking his hands through his hair, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...”

          Unsure of what to do about the destroyed tray and its contents, Keith immediately evacuated to the closet, not keen on letting anyone but Shiro see how he was dressed. Anxiously he clawed around for something to pull on below the sweater, shucking the socks and shorts to the floor. As he hopped into the leggings he found, there was a wrap on the closet door. Keith stood stock-still, adrenaline coursing through him and drawing the blood out of his cheeks.

          “It’s just me,” a familiar voice said, and Keith had never felt so relieved to hear Cora in his life.

          “Come in,” he replied, and the handmaid walked in, face absolutely wrecked with guilt.

          “Lo, I am _so_ sorry—,” she began, only to be quickly cut off by Keith.

          “It’s fine. You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he shook his head, allowing her to approach him and smooth out his hair.

          “I’ll help you get dressed,” she said quietly. “The Emperor wants to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Keith and Shiro are reunited, yay! 
> 
> But unfortunately there have been complications, not yay! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind reviews of last week's chapters, we were so happy getting such a positive response!!! I know a lot of you were concerned about Keith's reaction to Shiro and Sendak's past relationship, but currently he's more concerned with his boyfriend being alive and getting to be reunited with him <3 
> 
> Again thank you everyone for your kind words! Much love to you all!
> 
> ~Moosey


	15. Gamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Parental abuse, physical violence, physical abuse, psychological abuse, verbal abuse, domestic abuse, slut shaming, forced birth control, discussed child abuse, torture, past sexual assault, beginning of sexual assault
> 
> Hoo boy. As you can see this chapter is a bit of a doozy in consideration to content. If things seem like they're too much for you and you'd like to skip this chapter I've left a summary at the end for you so that you can continue to read the story without getting lost.

            Keith nearly recoiled at the thought of having to face Zarkon. Something awful slugged through his gut at the thought of being reprimanded for having sex by _Zarkon_ of all people. He’d rather face about anyone at that point, even Sendak. Cora looked at him pityingly, pulling out what looked dangerously like a gray pantsuit and a blue capelet with a collar that wrapped around his neck.

            “Do I really have to get dolled up to get yelled at?” he asked sarcastically, allowing her to help him get dressed. Cora grabbed a brush, running it through his hair and smoothing it into a suitable shape.

            “I absolutely refuse to let you do the walk of shame through the palace,” Cora responded, withdrawing a golden circlet dripping with aquamarine and lavender pearls from the jewelry case and settling it over his head. “There you go.”

            Keith pulled away, folding his arms over his chest and sighing anxiously. His handmaid fixed him with another sympathetic look.

            “Ready?” she winced uncertainly with a pained smile.

            “No,” Keith responded flatly, scowling.

            “Just… try to be as apologetic as possible?” Cora recommended, bowing her head a little oddly. “I’ll walk you there. Just – try to remember I’m right outside the room, okay?”

            “Okay,” Keith repeated, nodding sharply in return. They left his apartment together, scaling the stairs that led up to the first story of the palace and crossing the ballroom, heading for the emperor’s private quarters.

            The majority of the space was dedicated to a lavish living area displaying a myriad of dark, streamlined furniture. The starscape poured in from beyond a massive floor-to-ceiling window that made up the wall of the dining room split-level from the main floor. Cora gestured Keith around a grandiose imperial staircase towards what appeared to be an unassuming stretch of wall. She pressed her palm into an inconspicuous panel of tile, the touched area immediately coming to life with a violet glow – a section of the wall slid away smoothly, revealing a study within.

            “Your Imperial Highness,” Cora said, stranding aside to admit Keith into the room. “May I present to you The Crown Prince of Gal, Lotor.”

            “Enter,” Zarkon’s curt reply carried out to him.

            Keith stepped in, catching Cora mouthing “good luck” as he passed her into the study. The panel of the wall slid back into place with a _click_ of finality that resonated in Keith’s breastbone.

            Zarkon was standing at a bay window that extended up into the second floor of the study, his outline massive against the thin, fluted windows. He had never intimidated Keith before having gone into the fugue, and even during his time as “Lotor” Keith found that he was often slightly eased by Zarkon’s disturbingly relatable behavior. But that only served to make him more unnerving now – the fact that someone capable of acting so normal could be in command of that much sick power.

            The emperor turned his head to the side – not even bothering to look at Keith – and nodded the paladin over to stand beside him. Steeling himself, Keith traversed the room in silence, eyes fixed straight ahead as he reminded himself of his role of the subservient son. If he broke character, there would be hell to pay.

            He came to rest beside Zarkon, feeling his pulse quicken despite his refusal to let himself be intimidated. As Keith took in Zarkon’s expression, the emperor almost seemed disappointed – as if his concern was actually emerging from a place of benevolence. He closed his eyes and sighed, the epitome of parental exasperation and for the briefest of moments Keith believed that his punishment would not be as severe as he feared. Zarkon finally opened his eyes, slowly shaking his head at Keith.

            “What _do_ you get out of this?”

            That was the only warning Keith received before a clawed hand was secured around his throat, dragging him across the floor and slamming him harshly into the glass. Zarkon drew close, snarling into the prince’s face, his carnivore mar smelling of raw meat. Keith scratched at the emperor’s hands in a fruitless attempt at freeing himself, survival instincts completely blacking out his original attempt at acting servile.

            Zarkon dropped Keith, hardly allowing him to crumble to his knees before he seized the paladin by a handful of hair, yanking it back and exposing his face. His other hand gripped Keith’s chin, squeezing roughly around his jaw and shaking him violently. The paladin bit back a whine, the freshly-installed port in his leg aching acutely.

            “What do you have to say for yourself, you willful _slut_?” he snarled, slamming Keith’s face into the glass – the force was enough to send a torrent of dark blood out of Keith’s nose, the paladin too caught off guard to fight back.

            “I’m sorry—,” Keith choked out, only to be cut off by a condescending scoff.

            “No, you are _not_ ,” Zarkon insisted roughly, claws biting into Keith’s cheeks before he released him, slamming the back of his palm against Keith’s cheek. “If you’re anything like your whore mother, you _enjoyed_ spreading your legs for that d’gal, didn’t you?”

            Keith bit back the scathing retort of “yes” he so desperately wanted to voice, along with the spit he wished to launch at the emperor’s face. Instead he settled on a glare, unable to hold back his rage. Zarkon sneered, driving the toe of his boot into Keith’s ribs, forcing the breath from his lungs. Keith crumpled against the window, using a bloodied hand to hold himself up.

            “That look says as much,” Zarkon gloated, turning on his heel and stalking around the perimeter of the room. “So, did you enjoy it? Getting _fucked_ by filth?”

            Keith’s hands balled up into fists with the effort of containing every lashing reaction.

            ‘ _He’s trying to goad you into reacting_ ,’ he told himself. ‘ _If you strike out against him here, the entire mission is jeopardized.’_

            “Nothing to say for yourself?”

            Keith coughed, staring at Zarkon through his dark fringe. The emperor stared back at him impassively as he approached once more, Keith flinching on instinct. Zarkon huffed out an amused chuckle as if he were regarding a naughty pet rather than his cowering son, reaching out to drag Keith up by the collar of his cloak, leaning close into his ear.

            “You need to know your place,” he said lowly, Keith feeling his damp breath in his ear, sending disgust rolling through his body. “How should I teach it to you, hm?”

            Keith felt sick to his stomach, sick implications cropping up beneath Zarkon’s words. Now he was genuinely afraid, trembling and grasping for something to supplicate the emperor with.

            “I—,” he choked out, coughing a bit of blood from his nosebleed. “Please let me prove my honor.”

            “How?” Zarkon pressed threateningly, claws visibly pricking through the fabric of Keith’s capelet.

            “As any other degenerate proves their worth,” Keith quickly fibbed, grabbing for any demeaning terms he could use in order to play up his subservience. “In the Coliseum.”

            Zarkon finally released Keith, turning on his heel and perusing the starscape view as if nothing strange had been happening. “Go on,” he pressed nonchalantly.

            “I’ve – since I’ve come here I’ve learned a great deal about honor and redemption in the eyes of the Galra Empire – in _your_ eyes… Father,” he pressed out the final word, even though disgust and hatred bubbled high in his gut. “If I’ve chosen to act as base as a d’gal, I should be treated like one and accordingly made to replenish my nobility and worth in the eyes of our society.”

            Even though every word he said felt like complete and utter bullshit, this concept seemed to please Zarkon, the smile that formed on his serpentine lips crashing a wave of relief against Keith’s chest.

            “I find that would be a suitable punishment,” Zarkon agreed, lending his palm to Keith. For a moment he hesitated to take it before catching the dangerous glint in the emperor’s eyes and allowing himself to be helped up. A clawed finger wrapped around one of the pearl and aquamarine chains cascading from Keith’s tiara, running the gems between his fingers in a manner that could only be interpreted as possessive.

            Zarkon looked away from Keith once more, observing the expanse of space in a pensive manner, “Hopefully you will be better behaved during this event than the last?”

            It was not a request. Keith nodded, trying to put as much false enthusiasm into the motion as he could muster, “Yes Father, I plan to act in accordance to whatever parameters are established.”

            “I will make sure of that,” was the reply that he was met with. Zarkon didn’t even bother looking at Keith. “I will assure you that Haggar will not go easy on you with whatever combatant she manages to produce.”

            ‘ _You mean that_ you’ll _ensure that_ ,’ Keith thought hatefully, still having to force his face from twisting up in rage.

            “I’ll see to it that the battle is arranged as soon as possible,” Zarkon informed him. “If all goes well, be prepared to fight tomorrow evening.”

            “Thank you, Father,” Keith whispered, slowly lowering himself to one knee, pressing his fist over his hammering heart. “Vrepit sa.”

            Zarkon laughed again at this, eyes shining mirthfully as he stared out at the stars, “Vrepit sa.”

            They remained there like that for several tense moment before Zarkon’s expression settled into a glare.

            “ _Go_ ,” he snarled, and Keith didn’t have to be told twice.

            Standing on tremulous legs, the red paladin turned away from the emperor and headed towards the entrance of the room. The wall slid open as he approached, cuffing blood from his face and holding himself around the middle with his spare arm. Keith turned to the side to smile weakly at Cora, finding with shock that the handmaiden was covering her mouth with both hands, tears streaking down her face.

            “Are you okay…?” Keith asked, reaching for her hesitantly. Cora laughed hoarsely through her tears.

            “Am _I_ –?” she balked, shaking her head in some form of sick amusement. “Am _I_ oka – God, Lo let’s just – let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

            Keith paused, still reeling in the aftermath of his confrontation with Zarkon and the onslaught of Cora’s visceral reaction. She gently rested a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down towards his basement apartment, but steering him towards the access corridors of the servant’s quarters instead. As they traveled, they were accosted by another servant holding what appeared to be a small silver pen case.

            “My liege,” she addressed Keith, frowning slightly at Cora’s familiar touch. Even so, the maid refused to let go of him, drawing herself up defensively while squaring off with the other servant. Even though she dwarfed Keith by serval inches, she herself was made to look petite by Galra standards, and that was more evident now than ever. The servant addressing him glared at Cora and gently took Keith’s wrist, popping open the case with the thumb of her spare hand. “Your father has requested –.”

            “What _is_ that?” Kith inquired coldly, withdrawing his wrist immediately as he spotted the contents of the case.

            “Hormonal birth control,” the servant replied smoothly, her nonchalance slamming through Keith’s gut like a stone. “After your… _tryst_ with Vrepmyza, His Imperial Majesty wanted to ensure against any bastards –.”

            Keith _snarled,_ actually _snarled_ at the servant, fully baring his fangs for her to see, lip twitching violently as the rest of his face contorted in rage. He could feel the skin on his scalp and ears retract, hair standing on end.

            “How fucking _dare_ you?!” he spat, the pent up fury in his chest violently erupting out at her. The servant raised an eyebrow, coolly regarding his outburst.

            “If you refuse the shot, I _will_ have to report your impudence to His Imperial Majesty,” she replied prudishly, and Keith could have recoiled.

            “Nothing happened –,” he insisted, already beginning to slowly relinquish his arm. Cora caught his wrist, shaking her head ‘no’.

            “You don’t have to, I’ll take the blame—,” she began to say, and Keith pulled back the limb slightly, staring at the servant uncertainly.

            “How long does it last?” he asked hesitantly.

            “One dosage prevents against conception for a season,” she explained, already taking him by the wrist once more and exposing the juncture of his elbow. “It is immediately effective, so you won’t have to worry about conceiving from—.”

            “Just do it,” Keith cut her off in a harsh whisper, glancing at the floor sharply. Cora took him gently by his free arm as the area was cleaned by an antiseptic swab and the shot was given. Since he’d arrived on city station, Keith hadn’t been able to take his usual oral contraceptives provided to him by the machines in the Castle of Lion’s med bay, so he figured the hormonal shot could be a convenience at best.

            ‘ _That is if they aren’t chemically castrating me_ ,’ Keith thought irritably. ‘ _Or worse…_ ’

            He pulled his arm back as soon as the shot was completed, glaring daggers at the almost-smug looking servant, who placed the syringe back into its case and carried on as casually as she had approached him. Cora squeezed his arm comfortingly, leading him deeper into the servant’s quarters.

            “Don’t worry, it was only birth control,” she assured him, seeing the look of terror on Keith’s face. “I recognized the packaging; I take that kind every season. We don’t have anything that could do whatever’s making you make that expression.”

            Keith drooped a bit in relief, but could not shake the humiliation. He could give less of a fuck about being forced to take birth control, or even that all the servants were aware that he and Shiro had nearly hooked up. It was that he couldn’t stand the fact that anyone was under the impression that his and Shiro’s children would be anything less than perfect.

            Finally, they arrived at a small studio apartment set into a row of what appeared to be identical units. Cora fumbled with a pass card momentarily before they were granted access to the threadbare room and she gently planted Keith down on the bed, immediately grabbing a clean towel off of the counter and making to wet it.

            “If I wasn’t Vesh before, I certainly am now,” she growled, returning to Keith with the damp cloth and making to blot away the blood from his face. “Zarkon that _fucker_ …”

            “That makes sense,” Keith admitted. “When you talked to me in the garden earlier today… a loyalist wouldn’t entrust me with that information.”

            Cora smiled tiredly, finally pulling off of Keith and allowing him to clean himself up. She sat on the bed beside him, hanging her head a little and releasing an exhausted sigh.

            “I wish I could stay here and keep helping you,” she admitted quietly. “I just got fired today—I didn’t get caught or anything!” she added quickly at Keith’s panicked expression, “Just heavily expected – I don’t think the emperor wants someone so dangerous hanging around his son.”

            “Dangerous?” Keith quipped, raising an eyebrow. Cora laughed.

            “I might as well tell you,” she produced another sad smile. “I didn’t end up here by accident. My dad’s kind of a big name in the military, right? Someone Zarkon’s had his eye on for a while.

            “I was black ops – if you could believe it,” she added, resting her weight back on her palms. “But even then I was a risk – if my dad really was as determined to shake things up as Zarkon expected, then he couldn’t have risked a potential traitor in his midst.

            “After that I got caught up in a pretty convenient explosion,” Cora explained, tapping her artificial leg through her pants. “The druids fixed me up, but I was in for it because I fucked up so bad. That’s when my dad got me a fake name and ID number and shipped me out to this backwater planet. I think you’re familiar with it,” the young woman smiled at Keith. “Z-2-Hydrus.”

            Keith stared at her in shock, fuzzy memories of his capture on the Galra base falling into place – a female guard glancing over at him strapped to a table, nonchalantly quipping: “ _So what? He’s got a dirk and a den_.”

            Heat shot to Keith’s cheeks as Cora smiled guiltily, “Yeaaah. Sorry about that by the way, prince. If it’s any consolation, I don’t actually think you’re hideous like I said. I was just kind of pissed at you for knocking me over –.”

            “You _looked at my junk_!” Keith sputtered.

            “I mean we both said some shit,” Cora continued over him, obviously attempting to gloss over the subject. “But I’ve been trying my best to make it up to you – and not just because you’re the prince. Okay I mean that _definitely_ had a little bit to do with it, but I’m kinda attached to you now so—.”

            “ _Cora_!”

            “Tora,” the addressed woman corrected him sweetly. “Remember that false name I mentioned? My real name’s Tora… I got found out pretty quick once I got here, so you can call me that if you want.”

            Keith could feel his hair standing on end once more, this time genuinely chagrined at having been seen. His capture on Hydrus wasn’t something he liked to think about, especially considering what had transpired in the med bay. But Cora – _Tora_ hadn’t been the one to strap him down and flash his privates at the entirety of the room, having been completely nonplussed the entire time. Still…

            “You could’ve done _something_ about it,” Keith grumbled hotly, drawing his knees tighter together despite himself.

            “It’s not an excuse, but I really wasn’t in the position to do anything,” she winced. “I was Private Cora then, not Sergeant Tora. I would’ve gotten my ass handed to me by Grum.”

            Keith frowned, recalling the other guard, “Whatever happened to him by the way?”

            Tora’s face fell further and she glanced away, shaking her head ever so slightly, “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

            Keith nodded in understanding, continuing to draw the damp cloth over his face. He hesitated, staring down at the dark blood marring it and then back to Tora, who was frowning sadly at the ground.

            “…there’s something else bothering you,” he observed, and Tora puffed out a little laugh.

            “I’m kind of an open book, huh?” she glanced at him, amused. “Yeah it’s just – are you okay?”

            Keith blinked, “Okay?”

            Tora gestured to all of him, completely flabbergasted, “Yeah, _okay_! I didn’t get to see anything but the aftermath, but I knew Zarkon said and… and did some horrible things to you in there.” Her face contorted in guilt, “I should’ve been able to do something.”

Keith reached out to her sympathetically, “You could have died.”

            Tora smirked wryly, using the heel of her palm to push away another wave of frustrated tears, “Yeah, I know. It’s just… whenever I see something like that happening I just –.”

            She lapsed into silence, and Keith immediately understood. Having grown up in the foster system, he’d met countless children like Tora – those who cowered every time a hand was raised, too afraid to make eye contact, shaking at the slightest sound of anger from an adult.

            “…your dad?” he guessed sadly, only to be met with a vehement reaction from Tora.

            “ _No_! Oh God no, never my dad,” she shook her head violently, eyes blown wide. “My dad, he... I’m adopted, you see.

            “One of my biological parents passed away when I was really little,” Tora began to explain, looking down at her palms with a guilty expression. “It was from complications from having me, and my biological father never let me forget that. He was military – often out on missions a lot, and I was left to mostly fend for myself ever since I was pretty young.

            “There was this commissioned officer who lived out in the fancy part of the second ring – he was kind of a big deal in the military. He’d walk through the cheaper military housing to get to the Third Ring for work every day,” Tora grinned at the memory, looking almost impish. “And my crazy ass thought it’d be a good idea to fight him. I’ve always been pretty small for a Galra – no offense, Lo.”

            “None taken,” Keith sniffed. He’d long since accepted the fact that he’d forever look child-sized amongst the other Galra.

            “A lot of other kids gave me hell for it. So I thought: ‘why don’t I just pick a fight with the biggest guy I see and show them who’s boss’? And that’s what I did,” she concluded happily.

            “What happened?” Keith pressed.

            “Of course, he shrugged me off every time. Basically just picked me off of himself and plopped me back down without giving me a second glance – for the first few myokokak at least,” she leaned back her head wistfully, gripping the edge of her mattress. “Eventually he figured out I wasn’t going to stop. He kept asking me why I kept trying so hard when I knew I was going to lose. I told him that I planned on usurping him one day to show everyone how strong I was – that I was gonna be his boss, the admiral of the Galra military.”

            Both Keith and she laughed at the notion, Tora shaking her head, “I mean, you know, typical kid stuff. You really think you’re larger than life back then…” she sighed fondly and continued. “I think my saying that really amused him, and he started to give me pointers – usually in pretty backhanded ways, but he taught me to my size to my advantage. I started to rely on stealth rather than charging him, and I think I genuinely shocked him sometimes.”

            The smile on her face was dimming, “But after a season, my biological father finally came back from his assignment. I guess he was pretty stressed out because he beat the absolute _shit_ out of me that night.”

            Keith winced, reaching out for her sympathetically. Tora smiled sadly at him, “Thanks. But… things got better from there. I tried attacking the officer the next day, and he pretty quickly noticed something was up. When he saw the bruising…”

            She trailed off, rubbing her fingers together anxiously. “Well, I don’t know exactly how he pulled it off, but needless to say I was on his family registry that night. That poor bastard had no idea what a child was – he didn’t really know how to treat me. I mean, I’m pretty sure he still _doesn’t_ know what kids are, despite having raised one from childhood,” Tora added with a laugh. “But he’s good, my dad. Kind of a gruff, stony bastard but he’s gone out of his way to protect me time and time again, given me anything I’ve ever wanted and…

            “And even though I’m not his by blood, I’m still his daughter. He still loves me with every bit of his heart, even though he’s awkward to show it,” Tora looked over at Keith. “He really changed the way I viewed the world, you know. Family doesn’t have anything to do with blood,” she concluded. “I just… really wanted to let you know that after what happened today.”

            “Thank you, Co – Tora,” Keith corrected himself, setting the cloth aside and touching her shoulder gently. “That… thanks. I wanna say more but I’m a horrifically awkward person.”

            Tora winked at him, “I mean I’ve kind of figured that out.” She laughed when he swatted at her impotently, standing and offering her hand to help him up. The two left her room together, traveling down the hall to where the servants’ quarters terminated in the staff entrance to his apartment.

            “Sure you’ll be okay?” Tora asked concernedly.

            “Are _you_?” Keith returned, much to her amusement.

            “Am _I_ okay –? I can’t believe you,” she shook her head. “Prince Lotor: selfless as always. No wonder the people love you.”

            Keith felt his markings light up and Tora touched his arm once more, “See you around?”

            “See you,” Keith responded, nodding a little as he willed his blush to die down. Waving at each other for what very well could have been the final time, the two parted. Keith closed the door behind him as he drug himself back towards his bed, throwing the circlet and capelet down on top of his medical pajamas. He promptly deposited himself into the soft circle of his bed, burying his face in the pillows and releasing an agitated groan. He was furious at Zarkon, worried about Shiro’s wellbeing, aching from his ‘punishment’, and just generally completely in over his head. Not to mention the fact that he’d willingly offered himself up to the arena in a life-or-death bid for his own honor.

            ‘ _That is a thing I will think about at a time that is not right now_ ,’ Keith intoned very clearly in his mind, too deeply exhausted to do anything but lay there. He wrested himself out of the pantsuit-like flightsuit he’d been stuck in, chucking it down at the foot of his bed with the rest of his discarded clothes. He grabbed the white cotton pants from the bottom of the pile, tugging them on and wrapping himself up in the cocoon of his sheets. Immediately he missed Shiro, now acutely aware of his absence now that the fugue had worn off. Keith hugged a pillow to his chest in his stead, making frustrated noises into the fabric.

            He was far too awake to be sleeping that night, still completely possessed by everything that had happened in the last several days. It was far too much to process. Desperately he wracked his mind for something calming to think of, all thoughts of Shiro either cumulating in a picture of his boyfriend’s warped and dead body or setting off anxious alarm in his chest. Keith instead thought back to Tora and her story about her father, finding that it was probably the gentlest thing that had occurred to him in recent hours, other than his reunion with Shiro.

            Her words echoed back to him: “Family doesn’t have anything to do with blood.”

            For some reason, this warmed Keith considerably, allowing himself to think back to his family on the Castle of Lions. Idly, he wondered what they were getting up to – Hunk was probably anxiously cooking everything he could get his hands on, chances were that Pidge was already deep into City Station’s mainframe extracting every piece of information she could, Allura and Coran would be talking strategy, and Lance would probably be hogging the shower. Keith smiled at the thought of them; he hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed them all. He missed even Lance, who was a surprisingly good person and friend below his hundred layers of toxic masculinity and memes.

            But there was someone else who was part of that family now.

            He’d been there amongst the rest of his family for so long, always there if he’d been needed but never pressing. He had been there the moment that Keith had come to after his conversion, face clouded in concern. Keith also remembered a snippet of memory from earlier – something he hadn’t even been sure had happened as he drifted in and out of anesthesia. Someone had been holding his hand, petting his hair, and offering kind words: “I love you so much, Keith.”

            ‘ _Thace_ ,’ Keith realized, a torrent of emotions swelling up in his chest. He’d been reluctant to trust Thace from the start, angry at him for abandoning him, heartbroken when they’d arrived in Zarkon’s throne room and it seemed as if Thace had sold Keith out to the emperor. But during the entirety of their relationship, Thace had never treated Keith unkindly. He’d only ever offered his love and support, hurt when Keith didn’t accept it, but never pressing the issue. The remorse he felt at being unable to be there to raise Keith was genuine. He had stayed alive for ten thousand years to search for a wife and child that were very well lost to the cosmos. After so long, he’d never given up on Keith, even after being rejected time and time again, and after he’d struggled so hard to finally be by his side.

            Keith pitted the image of Thace’s kind expression against one of Zarkon’s cruel glares in his mind’s eye. Zarkon had beat him, berated him, gaslit him, and dragged him around the City Station like a new toy for everyone to see – trapped the love of Keith’s life at the center of a political stranglehold. He was a monster to Keith, to Serro, and to the empire.

            But Thace—

            Even beyond being a father, he was so kind and good. In Serro’s diary he’d treated her with reverence and respect, like an equal. He’d gone out of his way in negotiations to make sure that no one group was slighted in the process. He remembered his mother’s words written in the pages: Thace always went out of his way to do what he felt was right.

            And, Keith realized, blood related or not, he wanted no one else as his father other than Thace.

            Reaching to his bedside, Keith sought out the textbook that contained Serro’s diary, withdrawing the sheet of plastic-like material and bending it in the middle to produce the journal. Alone in the dark apartment, he just wanted to feel close to his parents and he felt that the diary was the best way to do so. He was far too restless to sleep anyway, and with their time running out to carry out the assassination, he’d use any source to try to glean more information on Zarkon.

            He flipped towards the end, finding a diary entry that was worded very differently from the first he’d read. It was almost clipped in tone, absolutely dripping with his mother’s exhaustion:

_Darque 16-205_

_Tomorrow we’re deploying to De’elsis. King Alfor feels that this would be the opportune time – the fighter units have destroyed a considerable amount of their mechas surrounding the capital. They’ve been using refurbished old models since they’ve lost so many of their territories where they usually find their supplies._

_Due to the nature of the guerilla warfare they’re resulted to, there’s going to be need for foot soldiers, which I’ve been instructed to lead because of my ‘expertise’. Thace is terrified. I can’t exactly blame him – they’ve been sending home foot soldiers from De’elsis in pieces. At this point I don’t care where they put me. I just want this war to be over. It’s been fourteen years since I was enlisted. I’m so tired._

_Thace and I are on City Station tonight. I thought it’d be risky with Zarkon prowling around, but he’s really been keeping to himself lately. I don’t think even Orkah knows about Thace and I at this point._

_I’m horrified at the thought of never seeing him again. The last thing I’d ever want is to die alone, knowing that Thace is out there somewhere waiting for me._

* * *

            “Lusilbe…”

            “Mmm?” Serro hummed, eyes fluttering open.

            It was still early, as far as Serro could tell. The expanse of space outside betrayed nothing of the time of day, but her body was still aching with exhaustion. Her husband pressed up behind her, trailing his lips over the nape of Serro’s neck, making her shiver with delight.

            “Hi,” she slurred sleepily, a devious grin forming on her lips as she rolled to face him. Her expression fell as soon as she saw the face he was making.

            “Hey,” she supplicated, reaching out to caress Thace’s cheek. He pressed into her palm almost desperately, ears lying flat on his head. “ _Hey_ , what’s the matter?”

            “I just,” Thace licked his lips, shaking his head as he reached out to embrace Serro, tucking her into his chest and squeezing her tightly. “I don’t know how to convey what I feel to you.”

            “Where’s this coming from?” Serro asked, nuzzling into his chest.

            “I just needed to say this – I love you so much, Serro,” Thace said, running his fingers through her short tresses and pressing her closer. “But it’s more than that. I can’t put it into words… I just needed to let you know. I couldn’t see you leave if you didn’t understand, but I can’t—.”

            She could feel him shaking, becoming overwhelmed with fear. Serro held fast, blinking the string out of her own eyes.

            “Babe…” she whimpered, butting the top of her head against his chin. “Shh, shh. It’s okay.”

            “You’re so precious to me,” Thace’s voice was tremulous. He pressed his lips into her hair, holding her tighter still. “De luste da.”

            “La-ah,” Serro replied in Altean, nodding fervently. “I know, Thace – I feel the same way.”

            He finally pulled away, holding her face sweetly and leading her into a kiss. Serro melted, tunneling her fingers through his hair. Her heart was so full, fear trembling out of her veins and being replaced by him. A wordless heat swept over her body, wanting so to convey the depth of her feelings towards one him. Gently, she reached out for him, tangling them together until they were one thought, one person.

* * *

            “WOW, _okay_ ,” Keith blushed, flipping several pages ahead to the next entry. “Didn’t need to know _that_ much, Mom…”

* * *

_Darque 18-205_

            A scant forty hours had passed before Serro realized she was going to die.

            Bracing herself on a tree, she folded in half, attempting to catch her breath. As the motion caused blood to gush from her wounded middle, Serro straightened herself with a pained wail. Her limbs were trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright, head becoming lighter by the minute. Desperately, she pressed the beacon on her gauntlet again and again, hoping against all odds that one of her teammates would find her.

            She was much too far from Misty to reach out to the lion with her mind – the battle had taken her away from the encampment where the ship was stationed the previous day, and for all Serro knew, the Blue Lion could have been claimed by the De’elsians by that point.

            Sliding onto her knees, Serro accepted that she couldn’t go on any farther. Easing herself into a sitting position, she leaned up against the tree and tried to breathe, attempting to staunch the flow of blood with her forearm. She removed her helmet and closed her eyes, blocking the pain to the best of her ability. Every tiny shift seemed to exacerbate the deep slice across her belly, every breath pressing out more blood until her bodysuit shined wetly with it.

            She thought about Thace: his shy smiles, his laugh, the way he held her hands to his lips and kissed every knuckle. Thace treated her like no one ever had, laughing at her feigned bravado, steadying and guiding her when she fell, allowing her to do the same for him. They pulled each other up, simultaneously one another’s support.

            The time they’d spent together just before the mission seemed so far away, as if the stretch of battle had lapsed into a different time. Serro fondly recalled the look on his face as she poured herself into him, like it was a distant and romantic memory from her youth instead of sex that had happened last week. He’d been so gentle when he’d done the same for her, covering every inch of her with adoration, holding her cheek sweetly, promising that between the two of them, they’d have a family.

            But any chance of Serro carrying their child was quickly fading as she stilled and bled out – she hoped Thace would be able to conceive from her, the thought oddly comforting. No matter what happened to her that day, he’d always have a part of her at his side. It wasn’t as if she was afraid that he would forget her, she just never wanted him to be alone.

            But inversely, it broke Serro’s heart to know that there was a potential she’d never meet her own child – that she was probably leaving Thace to raise them all on his own.

            Thinking of this, Serro pulled herself to her knees, struggling to stand. There was no way in hell she would die alone in the dirt, leaving her family behind. No matter what it took, she would live.

            Crying out, she took a step forward, almost buckling under the pain. Her knees trembled, nearly giving out as she struggled on, desperately attempting to reach the encampment miles away. She barely made it several steps before white briefly overtook her vision and she was on her knees once more. Bracing her palms on the ground, Serro took several shuttering breaths and crawled forward. The flash of white was being overtaken by dark, her limbs shaking violently as she fell to her side.

            And then there was the familiar sound of a lion’s roar.

            Never had Serro been so happy to see the black paladin.

            “Zarkon,” she smiled, reaching out towards her leader weakly; her fingertips trembled with the effort. Immediately he dropped to Serro’s side, cradling her in his arms and tucking her against his chest. They were in the cockpit of the Black Lion within moments, the soft purple light gentle on Serro’s stinging eyes.

            “You’ll need quintessence for a wound of this caliber,” Zarkon said, tone broking no argument. Serro whimpered, knowing the grisly source of the stuff, but said no more as he set her down in the captain’s seat, helping her strip off her armor.

            Serro unzipped the front of her suit, tugging her arms out to the best of her ability and rolling it away from her flesh. Zarkon pressed her back into the seat, observing the depth of the wound. He disappeared for a moment, during which Serro began to drift into unconsciousness once more – she stirred seconds later as the quintessence worked on her wound, bringing her back to the edge of consciousness.

            “Thank you,” Serro choked, shifting in place. Zarkon held her still by the upper arm.

            “Don’t move,” he directed. “That wasn’t enough to fully heal you.”

            “What?” Serro mumbled, head lolling to the side as she looked up at him in confusion. He was clearly holding the remainder of the half-full canister above her, staring down at her evenly. He turned, setting the quintessence on the dash of the black lion.

            “What’re you doing?” she asked weakly, reaching out for the canister, but the black paladin held her fast by the shoulders, pressing her into the captain’s seat. “Stop—.”

            Serro’s words were cut off as Zarkon dug his claws into the laceration on her stomach, splitting it back open. She dropped her head back, emitting an almost-silent scream on an exhale as tinnitus overtook her hearing, muffling what he was saying.

            “You’ll be good for me now, won’t you?” he asked through the barrier of her pain. Serro sobbed, pressing her hands against his chest and giving him a weak shove. Zarkon took her wrists in his spare hand, driving his fingers in deeper. Serro screamed this time, gasping as he extracted his fingers and gripped her chin, smearing blood over her jaw.

            “You want to live, don’t you rathylchaal?” he purred, dropping her hands and taking her by the hips. “If you do, make it worth my while.”

            “ _Stop_ ,” she begged, shifting to grasp at his wrists and pull them away. He raised one hand, taking her arm with it, and threw her torso over the side of the seat, her wound digging into the armrest. The scream caught in Serro’s throat, becoming a high-pitched moan of pain.

            “That wasn’t an answer,” he growled, stripping her of the rest of her bodysuit. “ _Do. You. Want. To. Live?”_

            Serro felt tears coursing down her cheeks, the laceration lancing with bright pain with every breath she took. Zarkon stared evenly in her eyes, grabbing her by the roots of her hair with one hand, the fingers of his other trailing over the lip of her wound, the promise of pain clear in his listless expression. “Well?”

            Serro tipped her head back, the tears sliding down the sides of her face and into her hairline. She opened her mouth and said, in a tiny voice: “Yes.”

            “Then be good.”

* * *

            Keith dropped the plastic, the journal projected oddly onto the wall as he sat in bed, a hand cupped over his mouth as tears fell down his cheeks in hot rivulets.

            ‘ _He raped her_ ,’ the thought echoed listlessly in his mind as he attempted to process what he’d just read. He’d known. As soon as he’d figured out that Serro was his mother, Keith had known. There was no way that Serro would have ever consented to be with such a bastard, not from the interactions that she’d detailed in her earlier entry. But there was something sick in having the confirmation laid out in front of him with a perverse sort of convenience.

            But he had to keep reading.

            ‘ _I’m so sorry, Mom,’_ Keith thought, turning to the next entry, unable to bear reading the remainder of the entry he was on. ‘ _You never deserved any of this, you’re so strong._ ’

            He began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being incredibly intense in terms of content. Hopefully the smaller sweet moments were enough to get you through a difficult read; there sure is a lot of juxtaposition in this chapter!
> 
> I'm really surprised no one recognized Tora/Cora! I thought her name would be a dead giveaway -- as mentioned in this chapter, she was one of the guards that accosted Keith in chapter seven of Pressure Suit. Kudos to those of you who took interest in her, however~
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments and support, we really appreciate all of your kind words <3 We'll see you next week!
> 
> Description of this chapter for those who had to skip it: 
> 
> Cora helps Keith get dressed and takes him to see Zarkon. Zarkon beats Keith and calls him a slut for getting caught with Shiro. Zarkon asks if Keith can think of a way to make up for it, and Keith offers to fight for his honor in the arena, to which Zarkon agrees. Zarkon sends Keith away. 
> 
> Keith is met at the door of Zarkon's office by Cora, who is sobbing and upset after overhearing what happened to Keith. She takes Keith to her staff room to clean him up, but they are accosted by a staff member on the way. She administers a birth control injection to Keith against his will, professing that Zarkon wants to keep Keith from having an illegitimate child, to which Keith is furious. 
> 
> Cora takes Keith to her room and admits to him that she's Vesh. Keith asks if Cora's visceral reaction to Zarkon beating him is if she has an abusive parent. Cora tells Keith that she did, but was later adopted by a loving father. She explains that her adoptive dad is a gruff but awkwardly loving military man and that she's nearly managed to get him in trouble due to her Vesh involvement. He had her sent away under a false identity to protect her -- to Hydrus. Keith realizes that Cora is one of the guards who apprehended him on Hydrus. Cora's name is actually Tora and she was originally a black ops agent.
> 
> Tora tells Keith that she got fired from being his handmaiden due to suspicion she helped to sneak Shiro in to see him. She takes him to his room and they say goodbye. 
> 
> Keith takes a moment to reflect on his situation and how shitty Zarkon is. Keith realizes that Thace is the complete opposite of Zarkon: loving, caring, kind-- Keith surmises that he'd want Thace as his father more than anyone. Wanting to feel closer to both of his parents, Keith continues to read his mother's diary. He reads an entry about an intimate moment between them and, embarrassed, skips to the next entry. This entry is about the final battle in the war against De'elsis: Serro is grievously injured and struggling to return to her lion. Right when she's about to pass out, Zarkon rescues her and takes her aboard the Black Lion. He gives her enough quintessence to just heal up her wound, but promises to hurt her further if she refuses to co-operate with him. 
> 
> Keith stops reading, having learned that Zarkon raped his mother. He is incredibly upset but decides to skip the rest of the entry and read on.


	16. Elucidate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another rough chapter, so here's a list of trigger warnings. Again, I've provided a summary of this chapter at the end notes for those of you who would prefer to skip this chapter.
> 
> TW: Dissociation, victim blaming, self-blaming, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, implied sexual slavery, forced kissing, non-consensual touching, slut-shaming, misogynistic slurs, internalized misogyny

            Several days later, the war was won.

            There were no celebrations as the wounded paladins returned to the Castle of Lions. The staff eagerly assisted them into their pods and Serro awoke a day later, body refreshed but mind humming blank. Parts of the day faded in and out as she traveled the castle, finding herself in rooms she didn’t remember going to, coming to in the middle of conversations she didn’t understand why she was having.

            By the time the distant fog receded, Serro was staring down at a message from Thace on her hailer. She read through the words several times, unable to process them; giving up, she curled into herself.

            She didn’t deserve this.

            Serro figured it was karmic retribution for what she’d done in her youth, or simply for being a terrible person. No one had ever questioned the bruises or the high-collared shirts she wore before she could rid of the markings via a quick trip in the healing pod. Serro kept her mouth shut whenever he struck her – at first because he was her warden, and later because it was easier to keep quiet. Besides, she was used to it. Because she deserved it. She blamed herself.

            But _this_ …

            The blue paladin folded herself in half on top of her bed, pressing her forehead into the soft sheets as she trembled without tears, anxiety’s cold horror working its way through her body. Serro’s insides felt tainted, like she’d been injected with poison – she couldn’t stand the thought of Zarkon’s influence working its way inside of her. Of being forced to remember the way he’d dumped her on the floor when he was done, letting the remainder of the quintessence fall over her naked form. It would’ve been kinder for him to let her die.

            But Serro had thrown away her pride in exchange for life – had grabbed onto the rope he’d offered in exchange for being saved. But in the end, the only thing he’d offered had been a noose. Serro had never had a choice. She’d never had control.

            If it was only going to continue like this—

            It was no secret that both Fiola and Cebas were terrified of Zarkon; the most she’d have was their pity and the most she’d do was put them in danger as well. It wasn’t like she could tell someone like Coran or another palace staff – in the end, it would just get around to King Alfor and Serro would never be able to live down the shame; especially if she wasn’t believed.

            Serro couldn’t bear to think of the look of despair on Thace’s face – to let him know that she’d hid the abuse from him for so long and that now she’d been – she’d –

            There was only one person for Serro to tell, and she hoped that he’d believe her.

            Before she could overthink it, the blue paladin pulled herself out of bed and entered the hall, facing the door beside hers. With trembling hands, Serro knocked.

            Orkah opened the door a moment later, his reptilian face drawn and exhausted – the battle hadn’t been kind to any of them. Upon spotting Serro’s hollow expression, he opened his arms to her and she pressed herself into him.

            “Serro, my pattit,” he whispered, stroking her hair consolingly. “Come in, let’s talk.”

            The blue paladin nodded shakily as he pulled away, gently guiding her into his room. Orkah gestured for her to sit on his bed as he saw to his desk, fingertips skimming over the surface of his tablet to deactivate the picture it projected. Serro’s heart lurched as she recognized the photo – it had been taken on City Station several years earlier, displaying a laughing Zarkon and a gently-smirking Orkah eying the photographer. They were both dressed formally for the festivities, Orkah’s head topped with a ridiculous wreath of flowers that Fiola had made for him, a matching one around Zarkon’s neck. They were holding hands, both looking genuinely happy. Serro couldn’t believe that the laughing man in the photograph was the same person as the one from the battlefield.

            ‘ _I can’t do this to you, Orkah_ ,’ she thought, standing and turning towards the door. ‘ _You love him too much_.’

            “Serro?” Orkah inquired, coming up behind Serro and touching her shoulder. “You should stay and talk – you are very shaken.”

            “I’m—,” Serro cut herself off, shaking her head and smiling over her shoulder at Orkah. She already knew it wouldn’t work, feeling the tears bead up on her lash line. “I’m just upset.”

            “Clearly,” the red paladin said, smoothing his hand up and down over her shoulder. He sighed. “I won’t make you talk to me Serro but really…”

            She turned to Orkah, allowing him to gently turn her around and bring her in for another hug.

            “I don’t want you to suffer on your own,” Orkah said, tucking her under his chin and running his hand over her back. “Please, even if you just sit here with me – don’t do this to yourself, pattit.”

            Serro’s heart lurched and the dam of her tears broke, the misty covering over her eyes spilling down her cheeks. She let her body fall limp into his arms, shaking into her sobs and letting him hold her up. Orkah supported her all the while, saying nothing and letting her ride out the torrent of emotions.

            Orkah.

            Serro couldn’t describe how much she loved him. Since the moment she’d been dragged into the castle of lions, fresh-faced and willful, he’d never given up on her. The number of times he’d taken the hit for her, stuck his neck out for her, literally rescued her from the brink of death was astounding. Even after the insurmountable bullshit she’d put him through for all those years, he was still there holding her whenever she couldn’t hold herself. Through and through he was her friend, her brother-in-arms, and her surrogate father.

            There was no one she trusted more.

            Serro told him.

            The room fell silent save for Serro’s hiccupping breaths, hardly smothered by the cup of her hands. Orkah stared pointedly at the floor, arms limp at his sides and face emotionless.

            “I’m so sorry – I shouldn’t have said – I didn’t know who to go to – I couldn’t –,” Serro babbled, flinching when he suddenly moved. But it wasn’t to strike her, as she had feared. Calmly, Orkah collected his bayard from his bedside drawer and stepped around Serro, leaving the room.

            In his expression – or lack thereof – she could feel his heart crumbling like a crushed glass blub.

            “Stay in here,” he said, and he was gone.

            Serro stood there, breaths coming violently and rapidly as she struggled to process what had just happened. Horror bubbled up in the pit of her stomach and she recognized the depth of Orkah’s tranquil rage – the way he’d gone straight for his bayard with no hesitation.

            “ORKAH!” Serro screamed, sprinting down the hall to the best of her ability. She quickly discovered that Zarkon’s room was empty, as were Fiola and Cebas’. She quickly wracked her brain for the spots where Zarkon and Orkah spent most of their time, slamming her hand against the call button on the lift, hoping she’d get it right the first try.

            As luck would have it, she did.

            Orkah and Zarkon were standing in the training room, the later staring at his lover with an almost bored expression. Orkah had already activated his bayard, the curve of the axe’s blade gleaming with red light.

            “Orkah, stop!” the blue paladin begged, running to his side and grasping one of his arms. Wordlessly, Orkah gently shook her and stretched out his arm, shielding her from the silent Zarkon.

            “Serro, go back to your room,” he said lowly.

            “Do as you’re bid, this doesn’t concern you,” Zarkon told her, eyes never leaving Orkah.

            “ _Don’t you DARE speak to my daughter_!” Orkah snarled, the disturbing placidity of his demeanor finally shattering.

            Zarkon ignored him, eyes suddenly settling on the Altean woman, “Well, did you tell him?”

            “You don’t deny it?” Orkah growled, moving Serro behind him and shifting into a fighting stance. Zarkon closed his eyes, sniffing in amusement.

            “I have nothing to deny,” he confessed, a smile curling onto his lips. “I’ll do with my ylchaal as I please.”

            “DA YLLSAR!” Orkah bellowed, charging the black paladin without hesitation. Serro watched in horror as Zarkon drew his own bayard, producing his chain sword and drawing it back like a whip. It cracked over Orkah’s face harshly, leaving a dark red streak running vertically down his eye. The red paladin threw off the attack like it was nothing, allowing the sword to wrap around his forearm as he brought his axe down upon his lover.

            Serro immediately sprinted from the room, her first instinct to grab her bayard. Halfway to the lift, she spotted Haggar, who was slowly making her way down the hallway, face half-obscured by her cowl. Serro grabbed the other woman by the shoulders, panting heavily.

            “Orkah and Zarkon – they’re fighting!” she told her breathlessly. “You have to help stop them!”

            Haggar shook Serro from her with a swing of her arm, knocking the Altean back. She regarded Serro wordlessly before heading down the hall at an increased pace. Serro cried out in frustration, slamming the call button on the lift with her palm. The light blinked red, indicating an error.

            “No, _no!_ FUCK!” Serro yelled, slapping it several times to no avail. She turned around, looking up and down the halls flapping her hands in front of her uselessly – both her hailer and her bayard were back in her room. With the lift jammed, she had no choice but to return to stop the fight herself.

            Serro hurled herself through the doors of the training room, Orkah’s name dying on her lips.

            The Stellite tossed his bayard aside, letting it clatter to the training room floor before it resumed its reduced state.

            Serro sunk to her knees.

            Haggar stood over the remains of Zarkon, his bayard tucked close to her chest with one arm as she passed her hands over the headless corpse, small sigils glowing to life around her as the body weathered away into black smoke. Serro dragged her eyes over the ribbon of purple blood on floor, stomach roiling when she spotted the head several yards away, staring flatly into the ceiling.

            ‘ _He was your friend, wasn’t he_?’ Serro thought, staring at the expressionless Druid as she continued to magick away the body. ‘ _Why would you—?_ ’

            Orkah had approached Serro, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her up to her feet. Half of his face was covered in a smear of dark blood from the wound across his eye, his expression unreadable.

            “Come,” he said evenly. “We must leave immediately.”

            “NO!” Serro argued, pulling against his grip with all her might. “We _can’t_! Orkah, you _loved_ him!”

            The Stellite scoffed, glancing at Haggar who was quietly approaching them.

            “Take care of her,” he directed, jerking his head towards Serro.

            “Of course, my lord,” Haggar responded, raising one of her hands towards Serro, whose eyes were filled with orchid light.

* * *

            When Serro came to, she was lying in the back of the Red Lion, the crimson light of the controls stinging her eyes open. Through the viewport she could see the looming form of City Station, its perimeters dotted with countless numbers of Galra fighter ships.

            “What?” the blue paladin whispered, shifting to get a better look at the pilot. Orkah was sitting at the helm, fingers idly playing over the dash controls as the Red Lion was pulled into the ship that made up the city’s core.

            “It really was a shame I had to do with this craft,” he was saying, glancing at Haggar who was standing behind the captain’s seat with a hand settled on the backrest. “I’m surprised it let me in at all.”

            “The paladin’s quintessence lives on in the lion,” Haggar returned smoothly. “Just as the last Mother of Constellations intended it to be when she helped to create them.”

            Orkah chuckled deep in his chest – it was a cruel, dark thing, “So even after everything, he let me in? Then Orkah was really just as pathetic as I thought he was.”

            “In the end, that hesitation was what did him in,” the Druid sniffed her own laugh, just as cold as the other’s had been.

            “A lovestruck fool,” the other commented as the Red Lion was brought into the main ship’s hangar. “It’s a shame I had to waste him in order to take this body. It may have proved interesting to keep him around.”

            “You fuck…” Serro whimpered, drawing the attention of the two Galra.

            “So she finally stirs?” Haggar observed lightly, raising her hand to pin Serro fully to the floor with another surge of purple light.

            The monster wearing Orkah’s skin stood, stepping behind the captain’s seat to observe the blue paladin’s prone form. Smirking, he crouched beside her, grasping her chin and dragging her body up to face him. He titled his head, looking amused at the expression of absolute loathing crossing her pretty features.

            “ _I hate you_ ,” Serro whispered, tone venomous.

            “I know,” Zarkon smiled, and kissed her.

            Serro’s entire body recoiled beneath the effects of the magick keeping her still; his tongue slid between her lips, wet and cold and foreign-tasting. Still able to work her mouth for speaking, Serro bit down as hard as she could, the taste of blood pooling through her mouth. Snarling, he pulled away, Serro’s jaw snapping open painfully as Haggar noticed her attack. Zarkon released her and she fell to the floor in a heap, everything but her eyes frozen. Zarkon stood from his crouching position, wiping the green blood away with the back of his hand.

            For a moment Serro expected him to strike her, but he merely looked down at her with fond amusement, like one might regard a misbehaving pet.

            “Come,” he directed, jerking his head towards the back of the cockpit. Haggar swept her hand towards it and Serro stood, muscles aching as they were moved forcefully. The triad exited the lion’s mouth moments later, a fleet of soldiers already gathered in the hangar in formation. Their captain stood at the head, his eyes clouding over with confusion when he spotted Zarkon.

            “Identify yourself!” he shouted, hand flying towards the gun at his hip. However, he froze immediately, clicking his tongue in frustration, eyes narrowed.

            “He is your Lord Zarkon, future emperor of Gal,” Haggar announced smoothly, stepping towards the Captain.

            He snarled, “That is _not_ Lord Zarkon.”

            “Oh?” Zarkon quipped, stepping towards the Captain. The soldiers behind him began to shuffle anxiously, half of them going to reach for their blasters. “You doubt the Mother of Constellations?”

            “N-no… my lord,” the captain said slowly, releasing an anxious breath as he was freed from Haggar’s influence. Immediately, he dropped to one knee, pressing a fist to his chest. “I… apologize. Your… your appearance concerned me. Vol sa.”

            Zarkon stepped up to the Captain, looking down at his subservient form.

            Quietly, he extracted the black bayard.

            For a moment, Serro saw the form of the chain sword materialize, but seconds later it had become a devilish recreation of her bayard’s form. Serro’s eyes widened and she felt her heart sink into her chest.

            The bayard only took the form suiting the wielder – or the form of any of the bayard wielders they had defeated. The humiliation was almost too much to bear; Serro trembled against Haggar’s psychic bonds, wanting to reach out and reclaim the weapon for herself.

            However, it had already descended upon the Captain, his screams echoing throughout the hollow belly of the massive hangar as his arm fell to the floor with a fleshy _thud_. The foot soldiers stood in silent terror, completely still as their Captain writhed and bled. Zarkon sheathed his bayard, looking out over the sea of soldiers.

            “Does anyone else wish to question my form?” he inquired, voice carrying over the shrieks of the Captain. He was met with absolute silence.

            “There is no longer a Vol Alliance,” Zarkon announced, casually pressing the captain’s head to the ground with his foot. He leaned his weight there, the sound muffled as the captain’s mouth was shoved into the floor. “There is only the Galra Empire, and our pursuits. And we will prevail, come victory—.”

            He turned his head to glance at Serro, mouth curling into a cruel smile, “Or death.”

            “V-vrepit sa!” One of the soldiers cried, immediately falling into the salute. Several nearby him repeated the motion and words, others mimicking their actions until the entirety of the hangar’s occupants had fallen like a receding wave, the cry echoing off of the tall ceilings.

            Pleased, Zarkon turned on his heel and approached Serro, grasping her chin and forcing her to look behind her. Ice settled in her chest as she observed the Blue Lion, standing just behind the red.

            “I suppose your willful nature has done right by me at least once,” he mused quietly, wrapping an arm around Serro and pinning her close to him as he walked. “It has caused your lion to follow of its own volition.”

            He guided her through the sea of kneeling soldiers, Haggar flanking his right in silence. The only sound was of their footsteps and the dying gurgles of the captain behind them.

            Face trained forward against her will, Serro could not look back.

* * *

            It was weeks before Fiola and Cebas arrived, looking for answers.

            They met Zarkon in the throne room where the Mother of Constellations had sat not long before—she had vacated her position to stand beside his throne. Serro’s torso was draped across his knees like a doll, a crystal suspended on a thin chain around her neck like a pendulum. Zarkon idly played with a lock of her artificially-lengthened hair, regarding the paladins as they hesitantly entered. Fiola all but sprinted down the aisle, relief instantly blossoming over her lilac face. Cebas lingered behind his sister, expression uncertain.

            Serro struggled against Haggar’s hold, her body limp and unresponsive to her screaming mind. She couldn’t even contort her face into an expression or upset or terror to warn them – it remained slack and blank.

            “Orkah!” the O’shetal girl cried in joy, “Serro! What’s going on?! Where’s Zarkon?”

            Zarkon smirked and Fiola drew short of the throne, taking a hesitant step back, her brow wrinkled in a mixture of confusion and worry.

            “W-we,” she started, licking her lips anxiously. “We were really worried when the Blue and Red Lions disappeared! We’ve been everywhere on behalf of King Alfor, why didn’t you tell us you were coming to—?”

            “And your lions?” Zarkon inquired smoothly, dropping Serro’s hair and twisting his fingers in the pearl headdress draped over the dark tresses.

            Fiola pulled her hand into her chest, taking another step backwards as she observed her teammate’s listless form, “What’s… Serro, what’s going on?”

            “Viola,” said Zarkon impatiently, “Where are your lions?”

            Fiola’s eyes widened in sudden realization and she began to shake her head. Although Orkah had often spoke Zarkon’s tongue, he’d never had an accent. Cebas choked loudly, hand faltering as it sought the blaster at his side. It didn’t appear that either of the paladins had brought their bayards with them.

            “I—,” the O’shetal girl nearly whispered. “I don’t know. When your lions disappeared, King Alfor had the others moved to protect them, in case the remainder of the De’elsians—.”

            Zarkon stood, Serro slumping to his feet as she slid off of his lap. Fiola stared on in horror, taking a step back for each Zarkon advanced until she was backed up against her twin, shielding him with her arm.

            “Haggar,” the Galra said, not bothering to look away from the yellow paladin. “Is she lying?”

            “Let us see.”

            Serro struggled to cry out for her friends as they were overtaken by the same violet glow that often encapsulated her. The twins were driven to their knees, heads tilted back and mouths slack. It started as a small squeak or two, but Fiola began to scream a moment later, her twin quickly following suit as their minds were scoured for information.

            A moment later they fell to the floor in a quivering heap, Fiola staring up at Zarkon with malicious eyes.

            “It appears they have no useful information,” the Druid informed him. “Do with them what you will.”

            “ _How_?” Fiola bit out, struggling to stand. Haggar did not have to intervene this time; Fiola instantly froze as soon as the black paladin extracted his bayard and produced the form of Orkah’s axe.

            “You killed him,” Fiola began to shake, small thorns breaking out on her skin as a steady stream of violet smoke began to pour from her mouth. “And your… your _witch_ put you in his body.”

            Her massive irises contracted into green dots on the grey expanse of her scalara. The vines from her hydrangea buns poured down the side of her body, writhing wildly and trashing in the air. Cebas remained crumped behind her, shaking too violently to right himself. Zarkon watched the transformation playing out in front of him, almost bored.

            “ZARKON!” Fiola screamed, charging him. The spiked vines reached out for him, tangling his limbs and tugging him down violently. Mildly surprised by the tiny girl’s strength, Zarkon was nearly pulled to his knees.

            But with her mind given way to her carnal offenses, Fiola had hardly made a wise tactical decision. With his superior strength, Zarkon pulled against the vines with his right hand, slicing those nearest to him.

            Fiola shrieked, violet smoke and liquid surging from her mouth as she ignored the assault. Bright green blood poured out of the severed vines, the remainders of which contracted back into her head. Zarkon wrapped the remaining vines around his hand, drawing Fiola closer with a swift tug. She flew forward, still screaming as he pulled back the opposite hand and struck her in the middle with the axe.

            “FIOLA!” the green paladin cried out to his twin.

            The yellow paladin stood stock still, making a small choking noise as she looked down at her middle and then over her shoulder at her twin brother, irises expanding back to their original size.

            “Cebas—,” the yellow paladin choked, and her body withered like a freezing flower petal, the green liquid inside rushing out through the wound.

            “FIOLA!” the green paladin screamed, crawling forward into the remains of his twin and digging desperately through the vines. The green paladin gathered the discovered form of his sibling’s blub to his chest, curling is body around it protectively, beginning to rock back and forth. Slowly, defensive thorns began to break through his clothing, giant and awful. Casting the wilted remains off of his arms, Zarkon stepped forward to observe the remaining twin.

            “Will you even stand to fight me?” the Galra asked pitilessly. “Or does your cowardice run that deep?”

            “Fiola…” Cebas whimpered, never even raising his head.

            The moment the axe crashed through him, Haggar released the bond on Serro and she screamed out, immediately charging down the aisle of the throne room, her bare feet slapping on the tile floor. As she attempted to transform herself, the crystal hanging around her neck gleamed, immediately sucking away the energy. Dizzy and swaying from the sudden drainage, Serro tipped to the side, quickly caught by Zarkon.

            “Get your fucking hands off of me,” she snarled, attempting to push him away. Zarkon merely threaded his fingers through her lengthened hair, as he often did, and pulled her head back sharply.

            “You should know better than to fight me by now, Serro,” he informed her calmly. “You could damage my investment.”

            “Your _investment_?!” the blue paladin spat, livid. With a sick sense of almost-fondness, he touched her middle with his spare hand, as if to indicate what he spoke of. Serro twisted away from him, wincing as her hair was yanked in his grasp.

            He scoffed, dropping her, and Serro nearly collapsed to her knees. Instead she hovered in place, shaking in rage as he knelt down to gather the twins’ bulbs up in his hands in order to deliver them to Haggar.

            “I’d imagine you can find a good use for these,” he mused, placing the bulbs in the cup of her palms.

            “Thank you, my lord,” Haggar said. She glanced over his shoulder at Serro, who was still standing amongst the remains of her friends, hair hanging around her face in a dark sheet. “Would you care for me to subjugate the ylentma?”

            “No, that isn’t necessary,” Zarkon said, glancing back at his prisoner. “She knows very well that if something happens, we’ll simply have to try once more.”

            Serro clenched her fists, eyes stinging. She knew his euphemisms very well by now – if she fought him, he wouldn’t hesitate to beat her within an inch of her life and start the process anew. And with the chance that Thace had managed to—

            “Serro,” Zarkon extended a hand to her. “Come here.”

            Serro huffed out a laugh, glaring at him through the sheet of her hair. A rueful smile crossed her face, and she looked manic in that moment: standing in her friends’ blood and dripping with enraged tears. She walked towards him, taking her time and laughing all the while. Finally she reached Zarkon, allowing him to take her by the chin and tilt her head up to face him. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, amused at her outrage.

            “You’ll be good now, won’t you?” he asked, as he always had.

            Serro’s laugh this time was a sharp, broken sound. Her rueful smile twisted, bordering on a grimace: “Like I have a choice.”

* * *

            Serro stood before the ossuary beside her retainer, the gauzy white dress she donned above her flightsuit feeling like some sort of perverted wedding garment, and the resting place before her a bastardization of a church. She’d been taken from her usual hour at the arboretum after her maid had received a summons and they had proceeded through the silent fairgrounds.

            The paladin waited, unable to think of what would meet her inside the building. She knew it acted as a secret entrance for Zarkon’s emergency bunker, having already been down on one occasion. But there were no signs of panic now, the fairgrounds empty and the day oddly still. The false sky projected an expanse of grey rainclouds above, a clear warning of a preprogrammed shower to water the vegetation.

            In her anxiety, Serro felt a tiny flicker of movement against her palm in response and she ran her hand up and down the curve of her belly. The day before, the Druid attending her had said the pregnancy was halfway over, and Serro was thankful for it, if only to soon be able to protect her baby from Zarkon’s violent onslaughts against her. But recently it seemed he’d all but forgotten about her, content to treat her like a pretty object to stand beside or fit in his lap. She hated it, but it was infinitely better than the alternative.

            Distantly she thought about Thace – of what they could be sharing together in that moment. They’d have bought a proper home by then, either on Altea or Gal, filling the house with their presence and love. They’d arrange a nursery together to their liking, likely sitting in it together for hours, long before the baby was due, just out of anticipation of when they’d finally be able to meet their kit. In Galra culture, one of the most important events was the birth of a child – the entire family would immediately drop everything and make the trip back home to see the newest member of the family and bestow on them well-wishes and gifts. She smiled to herself to think of a family flooding their small, imaginary home, taking turns nuzzling and grooming their kit before handing the sleepy baby back to their parents.

            But there was no way to know of the kit’s parentage, with Zarkon assaulting Serro so soon after she and Thace had been trying to conceive. And considering the fact that the now-emperor had made her his concubine upon her capture, it seemed unlikely that Thace had fathered the kit. The thought made Serro sick. But despite that, she loved the kit all the same.

            Serro was broken from her reverie by the sound of the emperor being announced by his guard, who preceded him. Zarkon was approaching the ossuary though the fairgrounds, Haggar a constant presence at his side. Serro bit back the rush of pain she felt every time she looked at him. She loathed the split-second of relief she felt when she saw her surrogate father’s face before it was replaced by grotesque horror. The emperor regarded his concubine coolly as he approached, eyes lingering over her distended stomach. Serro turned her torso away from him, staring hard at the ground at their feet.

            “Serro,” he greeted her emotionlessly.

            “Zarkon,” she responded quietly, hardly nodding her head in acknowledgement. She found that one of the best ways to appease him without completely giving into his desires was to be as civil as she could muster. She’d be able to prevent Haggar from controlling her that way.

            The Galra wrapped an arm around her, the limb heavy like a leaden pillory. They proceeded up the stairs into the ossuary, Zarkon beginning to speak to her conversationally.

            “My heir is growing,” he observed. Serro almost recoiled at the terminology – his _heir_ , his _progeny_. He would never see the kit as anything more than a way to secure his legacy.

            “If you’re making a quip about me getting fat, you obviously don’t know how pregnancy works,” Serro grumbled, certain that the comment was a safe bet. Zarkon grew bored and testy if she was completely subservient, which typically led to the worst of his moods. The harmless jabs were enough to keep him amused with her. He liked a prisoner that was still capable of fighting back.

            As she suspected, he sniffed a half-laugh, bringing her through the doors of the bone-encrusted building. As they entered, a silvery glow overtook the gilded and silvered bones, the pearly smoke that poured from them materializing into the spirits of priestesses and past Mothers of Constellations. They peered at the procession with curious eyes.

            Haggar stepped forward, raising a small hex bag in her right hand at them, and the ghosts evanesced from view, their hoary forms soaked back into their remains. With another swipe of her hand she opened the door down to the catacombs and the bunker below and they descended the spiral staircase, Zarkon gripping Serro’s shoulders tightly as he walked behind her.

            Curiosity got the better of her. “Are we going to the bunker?” she asked.

            “No,” Zarkon replied monosyllabically.

            “Then what—?”

            “You will see,” he responded, and his tone sounded laced with mirth. It was the voice he adopted whenever he was about to do something especially cruel. Immediately, Serro’s mind flew to Thace, terror picking up in her chest – was Zarkon bringing her down there to view the prince’s gilt bones? She trembled, suspecting it would be much to his delight.

            The stairs bottomed out, Mugenleb’s wall of bones appearing before them. The spirit did not materialize due to Haggar’s influence, much to Serro’s disappointment. More than anything she wanted to see a familiar and friendly face, even if it was that of a specter.

            Haggar turned and drew them deeper into the maze of the catacombs. Cubbies of various size inlaid into the walls displayed the remains of Druids and past leaders. They were made up to various states of grandeur depending on the wealth of the individual and the upkeep that their family provided.

            Finally, they arrived at what appeared to be a new inlet. It was fairly sizable, festooned in swags of the empire’s colors of saccharine red and violet. The glass casket in the middle was on a raised dais, edges gilded and inlaid with scarlet velvet. But oddly, it was completely empty. Serro squinted in suspicion as Zarkon took her to the box. He turned to her, gesturing towards it.

            “Your bones will look beautiful in here, will they not?”

            Serro felt her eyes widen, chest seizing with horror as her heart thrummed up a violent palpitation. Immediately she pulled out from beneath the weight of his arm, hands shielding her stomach, protecting the tiny kit within her. Serro curled in two as she backed away from the emperor, shaking her head. She nearly fell off the dais, only to be shoved back onto it by Haggar, who scoffed loudly when Serro landed in Zarkon’s arms. He gazed down at her, still sickeningly amused.

            “I feel you’re getting too comfortable, Serro,” he mused, nodding at the glass casket. “This will be your fate once you outlive your usefulness. One predecessor should suffice to raise my heir, don’t you think?”  
  
            “ _No!_ ” Serro argued, pulling away from him despite herself. Zarkon raised an eyebrow, glaring warningly at her disobedience.

            “Oh?” he quipped.

            “I _will_ raise my child,” Serro snarled up at him. She scoffed, feeling her lashes bead with furious tears before wiping them away; she refused to look like a sobbing child before him.

            “You sound so confident,” Zarkon smirked, reaching out for the moonstone dangling from her circlet and rubbing his thumb over the gems. “Tell me, Serro: what do you think you can provide to me beyond your basest biological function?”

            “ _Fuck you_ ,” the Altean woman spat, shaking with rage. Zarkon reached forward like a flash, firmly holding her around the throat but not enough to choke her – yet.

            “There’s the impudence I know,” he grinned sickly, leaning over her and brushing her cheek with the back of his spare hand. Serro tugged her head away, unable to stop the torrent of her sobs. “You really do wish to see the child grown, don’t you?”

            “Yes,” Serro bit out between clenched teeth, sniffing back her tears angrily.

            “Then tell me what you have to offer.”

            Serro knew he wanted her to beg. She couldn’t judge the potency of his threats, and was literally cornered. But whatever the outcome, she knew he wanted her to plead for her survival.

            “Anything,” Serro told him. “I’ll give you anything, Zarkon. I’ll give you my body, I’ll rip Altea to shreds with my lion, I’ll never fight you again. Just –,” her face warped in disgust. “ _Please_ let me see my baby grow up.”

            “You’re always so quick to abandon your home planet when something you desire is on the line,” Zarkon observed, pulling away from her. “What makes you think a selfish person like you could raise a child?”

            “Because I’ll love them,” Serro retorted immediately. “Just like _Orkah_ loved _me_.”

            The look on his face was worth the comment before his expression contorted in rage and he drew the back of his hand across her cheek in a stinging slap. Serro accepted the blow, refusing to let the pain show on her face and simply fixing him with a glare instead.

            “Impudent _cunt_!” Zarkon roared.

            “If all you’re going to do is hurl impotent insults, go ahead and leave,” Serro returned to him. “If you want this done and over with so bad you’ll just leave me be and _go_.”

            Zarkon’s hand immediately went to his hip to retrieve his bayard, the light of Haggar’s magick illuminating the inlet with a violet glow. Serro held her head high, hands clenched in fists at her sides. Zarkon then snarled and wheeled around, already stalking down off of the dais.

            ‘ _Yeah, go and throw your pissy fit you fuck_ ,’ she thought bitterly as she watched him go. ‘ _We both know I’m right – about everything_.’

            Haggar followed behind Zarkon, her lips drawn into a thin line as she regarded Serro, almost vaguely impressed. The blue paladin picked up her skirts, following the Druid out of the depths of the catacombs and up the stairs that led into the ossuary proper. Zarkon was gone by then, leaving behind the silent women in his wake.

            Again, the spirits were beginning to materialize from the bone-filled shadow boxes that lined the stairs. Haggar did not bother to banish them this time, allowing them to swirl around Serro, their ghostly limbs trailing over her face benevolently, whispering in ancient Galran.

            Suddenly, Haggar tripped on the next step, the little sachet she carried in her hand bouncing down the stairs and landing at Serro’s feet. The Altean knelt to gather it, the bag releasing a sigh of a sweet, familiar scent. And like that, the ghosts around her contracted, contorting into rigid, dark forms spilling inky smoke onto the stairwell and tearing into Haggar.

            The Mother of Constellations shrieked as she turned, roughly seizing Serro’s wrist as the ghosts tore at her with talon-like claws. She pulled the hex bag from Serro’s grasp and screamed out an incantation, brandishing it at the spirits like a ward. Immediately they flowed into their silvery forms, retreating into their shadow boxes.

            “What was—?” Serro began, squinting at Haggar. The witch pocketed the sachet, fixing Serro with a silent glare before continuing up the stairwell.

            They traveled through the ossuary and broke into false, grey sunlight quickly thereafter. The rain was beginning to patter down on the lush greens of the ossuary yard and the fairgrounds, Serro’s attendant already holding up an umbrella for her. She thanked them quietly, watching Haggar leave, presumably to go console Zarkon.

            They moved back towards the fairgrounds, Serro furrowing her brow as she thought of what had just transpired on the steps, refusing to dwell a moment longer on Zarkon. She didn’t know much about Druid magick, but she was sure that the pouch helped Haggar to control and contain the furious spirits of her predecessors. It made sense that they’d attack her – after all, she had presumably been the one to murder Mugenleb in the chaos of the summit all those years ago. The D’elsians had never taken credit for her death, which was odd considering that they’d been perfectly forthcoming with the rest of their killings.

            From what little Serro understood of the ascendancy of Mother of Constellations, either the most suitable Mother was naturally chosen by fate upon the previous Mother’s death at the hands of nature or a non-druid, or she had killed the last Mother and inherited her powers. Serro had learned this from the recordings of the greenhouse she so often frequented, many of the plants and herbs within used by Druid magicks—

            ‘ _Wait_ ,’ Serro thought back to the sachet and the familiar scent it had emitted. It was distinct – high, honey-sweet notes backed by a base of spice. The mother’s hands were undoubtedly a component of the hex bag.

            ‘ _I doubt I’ll be coming back to the ossuary after seeing_ that,’ Serro thought of the incident. ‘ _Although it would be pretty satisfying to push her down the stairs and watch her get torn up._ ’

* * *

            Time passed.

            “We got orders to take you to the arboretum.”

            Serro rose from the bed, dark locks pooling around her in a knotted mess as she struggled to her feet. The guard who had spoken snorted at her difficulty, the other slack-mouthed beneath his helmet. She ignored them, long since used to the treatment.

            “You think the emperor would take better care of his things. I mean – look at this one, she’s already ruined,” the first guard grumbled, watching as Serro hastily combed her fingers through her hair and gave up, throwing it into a ponytail. She began to scour the room for her shawl, draping the fur-fringed garment over her shoulders.

            “Finally,” the talkative guard said, opening the door and urging her out towards the decorative staircase that spilled down into her chambers. He addressed the other guard as they walked, “I didn’t think I’d get stuck doing shit like this when I enlisted. I thought it was supposed to be ‘vrepit sa’ and all that; I won’t get death _or_ victory toting around the emperor’s ylchaal—.”

            The silent guard stiffened at the insult, but Serro beat him to the chase, grabbing the talkative guard by the pauldron and yanking him down to her diminutive height. For a moment he made to fight back, but quickly stilled, knowing the risk of damaging the emperor’s ‘property’.

            “Yeah, what do you want ylch– _fuck_!”

            Serro pulled back her head and slammed him hard in the nose, eliciting a crunching noise in the process. Grinning triumphantly she pulled back, watching in amusement as he clamped his hands over the broken appendage.

            “ _Fucking bitch_!” he swore into the cup of his hands. “Why can’t these _fucking_ helmets cover our noses?! _Shit!_ ”

            “Yeah, I’d take that to the infirmary if I were you,” Serro commented airily, readjusting her shawl and making to brush imaginary dust off of it.

            “You see what happens when I get back here, you cunt!” he snarled, tripping away from the stairs and towards the infirmary. One hand still clapped over his nose, he pointed at the other guard. “You take care of her!”

            Serro grinned after him, knowing that nothing would come of his threats. Between broken fingers, toes, and noses it was the fifth guard she’d sent to the infirmary within the past few months. While it might not have been Zarkon himself, Serro still delighted in the little victories she indulged in.

            Beside her she heard a low noise and saw the silent guard obscuring a smile behind his palm. Serro smiled at him, feeling a small sense of comradery.

            “Not his biggest fan, huh?” she asked, quirking a brow. The other guard shook his head ‘no’. Serro grasped the banister of the stairs, beginning to haul herself up. “You’re pretty quiet, aren’t— _woah_.”

            The guard had come up behind her, securing one arm around her lower back and gripping her left hand with his.  Serro shook him off, shooting him a chagrined look.

            “Thanks for the offer, but I’m perfectly capable of getting myself up a flight of stairs,” she grumbled, pulling herself up another. “I’m just pregnant, it’s not like I can’t walk.”

            The guard stood back from her, his raised hand dropping suddenly as if she’d scorned him. Instead, he stayed beside her, hands outstretched to catch her in case she lost her balance. Serro stared at him dubiously, uncertain of what he was getting at. Here, people only treated her with indifference or cruelty – Serro was thankful to not have had a pitying glance sent her way during her imprisonment. But there was nothing pitying about the way the guard acted, like he wanted to give her support and nothing else. At least he was respecting her wishes, unlike literally ever other person there.

            At long last they made it up the stairs, Serro leaning against the wall and struggling to catch her breath as the guard called the lift to the rooftop tram stop. He turned to her, making to set a hand on her shoulder but thought better of it, merely gesturing towards the open doors when the elevator arrived. Serro stepped in and he stood beside her, pressing the door close buttons before his hand slipped upwards.

            “What’re you—?”

            Decisively he pressed the emergency stop button and Serro immediately took a defensive stance, shielding her middle. But any threat she could muster died on her tongue as the guard took his helmet and cast it aside.

            Serro’s heart could have stopped, a silvery sensation rising into her throat as she threw herself into his arms.

            “ _Thace!_ ” Serro shouted, nearly managing to bowl her husband over in the process.

            “ _Serro_ ,” Thace squeezed her tightly, lifting her up off of the ground. They pressed into one another desperately, both too overwhelmed to speak. Serro laughed, going limp in her husband’s arms, reveling in the sensation of his arms supporting her. She shook her head in disbelief, choking back tears of joy. Thace pressed their foreheads together, a deep purr working up in his chest as his wife kissed every inch of his face she could reach.

            “Thace, my ilbe,” Serro voiced tremulously, overtaken by tears.

            “ _Ilbe_ ,” Thace agreed, kissing Serro’s forehead and stroking her hair.

            “How did you even—?” Serro laughed as he pulled away, cupping her face and stroking away her tears with his thumbs. “You’re crying too,” she observed, reaching out with the corner of her shawl and dabbing at his face.

            “I’m sorry,” Thace laughed as well, smiling at her with all of his sincere warmth. Serro melted and surged forward, pressing a hand to his chest. He cupped his hand over it, leaning into the kiss.

            “I had to join the military to get here,” he said as soon as he pulled away. “Access to City Station has been cut off since Zarkon declared war on the Vol Alliance.”

            Serro nodded, but continued to urge him for answers: “How did you know I was here?”

            Thace bit his lip, looking away, “I’ve heard… rumors about the fate of the blue lion and paladin.”

            Serro smiled bitterly, “What, that I became Zarkon’s whore?”

            “ _You are NOT a whore_!” Thace snarled, his grip around her tightening protectively. “You are your own person, Serro. You belong to no one.”

            “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now—with me,” she smiled, holding his face reverently. His anger dissipated, replaced by that same kind look that absolutely wrecked her with joy.

            “With both of you,” Thace agreed, gently settling a hand over Serro’s stomach. Matching rushes of joy and despair ran down Serro’s spine and she pulled away from him, turning her face towards the floor.

            “Serro—,” her husband began. But Serro shook her head, overtaken by shame and anger.

            “Thace I,” she hissed bitterly, tears crowding her lash line once more. “I don’t know who this kit’s father is. On the last day of the De’elsian battle, Zarkon—.”

            She stared at him, unable to keep the word bottled up in her chest any longer, “He raped me, Thace.”

            It was a foregone conclusion, but she saw his heart break all the same. Thace wrapped his arms around Serro, pressing his face gently into her shoulder and kissing her there. Serro could feel his tears through the crochet gaps of her shawl.

            She continued: “I was bleeding out and he took advantage of the situation. It was so close to when we were trying there’s no way to tell.”

            Thace was silent for a moment before he took a step back from her, taking her hand and squeezing it.

            “I will do,” he said slowly. “ _Anything_ in my power to help you kill him.”

            Serro nodded decisively, opening her mouth to continue. But before she could say another word, a voice crackled over the comms in the elevator.

            “This is control, what happened in there?”

            Thace held down the button to reply, “My hand slipped when I was imputing the floor level.”

            There was an annoyed groan over the other line, “It’s going to take another three ven to get it back online. The guys from repair need to give the okay before we can get the elevator up and running again.”

            Thace pressed the button again, “We’ll be fine.”

            There was a moment of silence following the interaction, the pair glancing anxiously at one another. Thace reached out and set a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.

            “Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I know it isn’t much, but I thought you’d enjoy some company when I can’t see you.”

            Serro cocked her head in confusion as Thace extracted something from his pocket, opening his hand to reveal the mouse Licorice curled up inside. Serro gasped in happiness, accepting the little animal from her husband. Licorice stirred, blinking his red eyes at Serro; a look of joy crossed his features before the purple mouse squeaked in pretend annoyance and turned his nose up at her.

            “Hey you,” the blue paladin smiled, holding Licorice up to her cheek to cuddle. The mouse looked irritated, but nuzzled her back.  “Where’d you _find_ him?”

            “In my quarters, if you can imagine that,” Thace laughed. “It seems like he stowed away on your luggage the night before you left – he’s been living with me ever since.”

            “You sweetie,” Serro kissed Licorice on the cheek and stowed the mouse away in her pocket. “What do we do now?” she asked softly – Thace sighed, ears pinned to his head in concentration.

            “My idea when joining the military was to slowly rise through the ranks, gaining Zarkon’s trust,” he glanced at Serro. “I paid off several important people to get this shift – I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep in close contact with you.”

            “I mean, I don’t doubt Zarkon will remember you. Even after I got off of parole, he always kept a really close eye on me,” Serro fretted. “It’ll be almost impossible for you to pull that off, Thace.”

            “Zarkon doesn’t keep an eye on every single one of his underlings, especially a private,” Thace told her. “You certainly have a point, though. If my goal is to get close to him, he’ll inevitably find out who I am. I just have to be able to convince him that I don’t—.”

            “That you don’t love me anymore?” Serro completed with a sad smile. “I am a ‘fallen woman’ after all— it makes sense you’d spurn me.”

            Thace looked pained, but Serro continued, not wanting to drag on that part of the conversation.

            “What happens after you gain his trust?” she inquired.

            “Hopefully by then I’ll have access to the hangar,” he explained. “Then we can get you and our kit to the Blue Lion.”

            Serro smiled sadly, “Thace I just said—.”

            Quietly, her husband took her hand and lowered himself to his knees, pressing a gentle kiss to the swell of Serro’s stomach, “No matter their biological heritage, this is still our kit.”

            Despite herself, Serro immediately began to cry again, wrapping her arms around Thace’s shoulders and cupping the back of his head fondly, “God, I love you Thace. We both do.”

            “As I love both of you, ilbe,” he nuzzled her stomach gently. “De luste da.”

            “Our kit,” Serro giggled tearfully.

            “Our kit,” Thace echoed, giving her middle another kiss.

* * *

_Misse 2-205_

_Yesterday, the kit was born._

_I have never seen a more beautiful creature in this world. I love them so fiercely that I could never be able to describe it – I didn’t know such a powerful feeling could exit before I looked at our kit. They are so precious and cute, their ears are so tiny and they are so, so fluffy. For some reason I can’t get over their toes, they are just so tiny! Their paws gripped my fingers so tightly I thought they’d never let go. That’s good, because I don’t want them to._

_Lord Quiznak actually came to visit today (!!!). I don’t think he was very impressed; I’m pretty sure he wasn’t expecting an infant, but rather a full-grown combat-ready heir. The midwife asked him what he wanted to name them (apparently I don’t get an opinion – what else is new), and this quiznak looked at Thace and my beautiful perfect kit and said:_

_“Lotor.”_

_Lotor is, by far, the stupidest fucking name I have ever heard of. It sounds like someone I used to beat up on behind the schoolhouse. I’m calling them Lo._

_Today, Thace was finally able to meet his kit. I thought it felt amazing when he gave me that look that always melts my heart, but when he directs that look at our kit, I think I could die of love and happiness._

_We’ll be sure to give them a better name from the culture of whatever planet we end up on._

_Misse 3-205_

_I can’t get over this. Lotor. Fucking stupid._

* * *

            That was the final entry.

            Keith chuckled through his tears, relieved to see that his mother’s cheeky writing style had managed to return in the end. He was oddly glad to know that she hated his birth name as much as he did.

            He bent the film back into place, banishing the diary and stashing it back into its place as a bookmark in the literally ancient textbook. He laughed, studying the notes and sketches in the margins fondly. It reminded him so much of his own stupid quips and doodles he’d leave all over his notes and textbooks back at the Garrison. It made him feel closer to her, and he felt warmed to know that they had so much in common.

            He choked out another laugh as he turned the page, seeing a doodle of who he presumed was Serro stabbing Zarkon in the face while holding a comically-oversized Thace in her spare arm.

            He stared down at the caricature of his dad, wishing so badly that he’d been able to meet both of them. To have been raised by both of them. If it wasn’t apparent before, the contents of the diary cinched it – Thace loved Keith with all his heart. He knew that it had agonized him to be apart from his wife and son, never knowing where they’d ended up or if they were even alive; Keith couldn’t fathom being separated from Shiro for thousands of years, let alone any child they could have together.

            ‘ _I’ll make it up to you, Dad,’_ Keith thought. ‘ _I’m sorry for being such a stubborn asshole_.’

            Keith set the textbook aside, leaning back into his pillows and thinking on the contents of the diary. It was strange to realize that his family was even bigger than he’d ever thought. Even though they were apparently dead, he had _grandparents_ , too. Even though he resented him on some level for ignoring Serro’s abuse at Zarkon’s hand, his heart still went out to Orkah, wandering if he’d been subjected to the emperor’s rage as well. He had had an especially awful fate.

            Other than him, Serro had made no mention of any parents, and Keith’s kinship with her grew. Had she been orphaned like him? It was painful to think of how she would have felt, dying and leaving a child orphaned in her wake. Maybe two from her perspective– Keith was never sure if she’d been alive to see that his sibling was stillborn.

            He imagined what it would have been like to be raised by both Thace and Serro. He remembered so little of his mom – just the vague recollections of what he assumed was their escape from City Station, and snippets of sensation and feeling more than any solid memories. But she had been kind – and apparently strong and willful and funny – and Thace was so smart and caring. He knew his life with them would have been a happy, fulfilling one.

            Stowing the sweet thoughts away for later, Keith turned his attention to the task at hand. He’d definitely found what he was looking for: Zarkon’s weaknesses.

            From what Keith had been able to glean from the diary, Haggar was an integral source of Zarkon’s power. She was the one who had performed the body swap, thus extending Zarkon’s life. With her at his side, Zarkon was essentially immortal. Once they took her out, the rest of the job would be – well, maybe not easier, but at the least _possible_.

            And thankfully Serro had provided the answer to that problem as well. If Haggar was not in possession of the hex bag that both Serro and Keith had seen with her, then the spirits would turn on her in an instant. With the way Serro had described the attack, he assumed that the ghosts would not hesitate to tear her apart.

            “Thank you, mom,” Keith said reaching out to touch the textbook that housed the diary. He raised his eyes, peering through the dim light of the apartment and to the cross-stich portrait hanging above the dining room table. Keith took up his bayard from the table beside his bed, standing and crossing the room.

            He stood before the portrait, staring at the image of his miserable, falsely-demure mother next to the smug visage of Zarkon. He drew back his arm, activating his bayard’s full form and slashing through the image.

            “I won’t let you be remembered like that,” he said, satisfied with his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I know a lot of you were curious about Orkah, so here is his unfortunate fate... sorry it had to be so grisly. But I can promise we're not done hearing about him yet. Next chapter you get to loo forward to the triumphant return of Shiro, which I know a lot of you were pumped about~ yay!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos! We'll see you next week! <3
> 
> Chapter Summary:
> 
> The Vol Alliance is victorious against De’elsis and the war is over. However, Serro is still reeling after Zarkon attacked her. She finally resolves to tell Orkah, who angrily confronts Zarkon. The two begin to fight – Serro goes to find help, running into Haggar and asking her for assistance. Haggar goes on to Orkah and Zarkon, but Serro is unable to find anyone else. When she returns, Orkah has killed Zarkon and Haggar is magicking the body away. Orkah – acting strangely – orders Serro to come with him. Serro refuses and Haggar knocks her out.
> 
> When Serro wakes up she’s in the Red Lion. She overhears Haggar and Orkah talking, only to realize that Orkah is, in fact, Zarkon in Orkah’s body. They arrive at City Station, where Zarkon kills a captain to demonstrate his power and Haggar declares that he will be the new emperor. It is revealed that the Blue Lion followed Serro to City Station.
> 
> Later, Fiola and Sebas show up looking for their comrades. Thinking Zarkon is Orkah, they approach him but quickly become disturbed by his demeanor and the fact that Serro, under Haggar’s spell, cannot respond or move. Zarkon kills both of them and takes their ‘bulbs’ – the husks from which an O’shetal can be resurrected. Serro tries to attack Zarkon, but he threatens to kill her unborn child, his "investment", so Serro stops.
> 
> Later, Zarkon takes Serro down to the ossuary to show her where he’ll put her bones after killing her. He tells Serro that he’ll do so after she gives birth to her heir. Serro argues for her life, pissing off Zarkon in implying that Orkah – who she sees as her surrogate father – loved her more than he loved Zarkon. 
> 
> Zarkon storms off and Haggar and Serro leave the ossuary. During this, Haggar drops a hex bag full of what Serro recognizes as the dried petals of a flower called The Mother’s Hands. Without the hex bag, the Druid ghosts attempt to attack Haggar, but she grabs it in time to avoid this. 
> 
> Towards the end of Serro’s pregnancy, she is being allowed out of her room for the day. One of her guards insults her so she breaks his nose. He goes off to get medical aid, leaving Serro with a silent, kindly guard who tries to help her. Serro shrugs him off and they get into an elevator that will take them to the tram station on the roof of the palace. However, the guard stops the elevator and takes off his helmet, revealing himself to be Thace. Serro tells Thace what happened on the battlefield and Thace tells her that it doesn’t matter, because he considers her baby to be theirs, regardless of the baby’s biological parentage. He vows to help Serro and their kit escape on the Blue Lion.
> 
> Serro’s diary ends by noting the birth of her baby Lotor, whose name she hates. She promises to give Lotor a proper name from whatever planet they end up escaping to. She professes that Thace loves the kit with all of his heart. 
> 
> Keith finishes reading the diary and accepts Thace as his father. Then, he goes to the portrait of his mother in his dining room and cuts it down with his bayard, not wanting her to be remembered as a courtesan.


	17. Quandary

            “Unbelievable.”

            It was early in the morning – exactly one myokven and two ven – and Shiro was right where he was supposed to be, standing at attention in the middle of the admiral’s office. His insides were a jumbled mess; he’d rather be anywhere else, save, of course, for being made to prostrate himself before Zarkon after being caught with Keith, which was exactly where he thought he’d be sent. But Shiro had safely made it back to his apartment, completely torn up over having to leave Keith in such a condition, and faced no retribution through the night. When he awoke to the alarm he’d set on his hailer he felt no better: reporting in to Sendak was the next worst punishment.

            “Unbelievable,” Sendak repeated, pacing agitatedly before his desk. “What did –?” he bit off, the corner of his lip trembling in barely controlled rage. He rounded on Shiro abruptly, slamming the palm of his prosthetic flat on the desk. “Were you not made aware that you were _expressly forbidden_ from consorting with the prince?”

            Shiro stood rooted to the spot, unsure how rhetorical the admiral’s question was.

            “ _Vrepmyza,_ ” Sendak grit through closed fangs, a command and not a question.

            “Yes, sir,” Shiro answered evenly, not bothering to dance around the honorific. “I was made aware of that order.”

            “Then _why_ ,” Sendak growled, “Did you ignore it the second you had the chance?”

            “Because I –.”

            “No,” Sendak interjected tersely, “Don’t answer that. As if the answer weren’t abundantly clear,” he barked a humorless laugh. Exhaling slowly he leaned against his desk, folding his arms over his chest as he fixed Shiro with a knowing stare.

            “You’re trying to dismantle the government,” he accused flatly. “That’s why you’ve come back, isn’t it? Somehow you determined the red paladin’s paternity and you thought you could use him to take Zarkon down from the inside out. You made a gamble and it backfired, didn’t it? And now you’re scrambling to undo everything the Druids did to make him forget.”

            Shiro stiffened, unsure what to say in the face of so sound an analysis. _‘Have we been so transparent?’_ he worried. _‘Does that mean Zarkon sees through us, too? And what of Sendak? Where do his loyalties truly lie? He’s laid everything out exactly as it is and yet we’re all still alive to fulfill our mission. If he hasn’t reported us then he must have something left to gain from secrecy,’_ Shiro rapidly realized.

            “Do you deny it, Vrepmyza?” the admiral pressed.

            “No,” Shiro returned confidently, “I don’t.”

            _‘I know you, Sendak,’_ he considered, _‘You’re power hungry enough to side with whoever suits your needs best_. _When it comes down to it, Zarkon is_ _the only thing stopping you from reaching greater influence: with him out of the picture you only stand to profit. You may not be Vesh in the traditional sense of the term, but you may at least still be swayed to our cause, if only for your own benefit.’_

Sendak huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You’d do well to learn to play your cards closer to the vest,” he warned, “You make too many reckless decisions: you’ll jeopardize everything you’ve worked toward.”

            “I’ll be sure not to show my hand to the wrong people, then,” Shiro responded coolly.

            “Haven’t you already?” Sendak cocked a brow.

            “I know an enemy when I see one.”

            “You underestimate me.”

            “I know exactly what kind of person you are, Sendak,” the paladin countered ambiguously. “And right now you have far more to gain from not impeding me.”

            “Presumptuous.”

            “Calculated.”

            “How unlike you,” Sendak snarked.

            “How like _you_ ,” Shiro pointed out.

            Sendak made a short hum, seemingly satisfied. “Good to see you’re not guided solely by your emotions. Or your dirk,” he added pointedly. “But don’t think I won’t turn on you the second you’re no longer of use.”

            “I’ll take my chances,” Shiro shrugged indifferently.

            “Your odds haven’t been good,” Sendak pointed out. “And that stunt you pulled has only led the emperor to distrust you further: you and that paladin, both.”

            Shiro pursed his lips around a wince, terrified to know what had become of Keith since they had been discovered. If Vespi’s response had been any indication, then he could safely assume that his boyfriend was delivered straight upstairs to Zarkon.

 _‘I’ll tear that fucker apart if he’s laid a hand on Keith,’_ Shiro swore inwardly. _‘I need to find a way to check in on him but not even Cora has been around. I wonder if she got in trouble for aiding us?’_ he thought guiltily. He could easily surmise what sort of punishment a mere expendable handmaiden might expect.

            Sendak watched him intently, weighing thoughts of his own. “How do you intend to rectify it?” he asked at length.

            “Zarkon’s trust?” Shiro clarified. Sendak nodded. Shiro dropped his gaze, uncertain.

            He could always volunteer to return to the arena, but he highly doubted it would be enough to appease the emperor’s apprehension, especially seeing as he’d already failed once to eliminate Shiro for good through it. Remaining by Keith was no longer an option: even if he were merely trying to protect the progeny Zarkon so highly valued, the emperor would never allow the interaction, no doubt already fearing that the fugue was wearing thin. Gone too was the thought of infiltrating the Royal Guard: with Zarkon’s trust in him diminished there was no way he’d be allowed into the ranks, even despite the emperor’s habit of keeping his enemies near. Shiro was running out of options, and fast.

            Sendak sighed deeply, rising from his recline on the desk and making for the door, pausing beyond it in clear anticipation of Shiro’s company. The paladin hesitated, unspoken question met only by cold mismatched golden eyes. Steadying himself with a breath, Shiro followed, unnerved as they moved farther and farther away from the offices. They passed through a series of security doors, emptying out into a thin hallway lined with thick metal. Soundproofing, Shiro realized anxiously. He had been there before.

 _‘The interrogation rooms,’_ he recalled. _‘And,’_ he added as the pair made a beeline for the final door, _‘The execution chamber.’_

            “You understand,” Sendak spoke up as the room loomed closer, “That your punishment will be severe.”

            Shiro nodded stiffly, fighting down the panic derived from Sendak’s words married with their destination. “I do,” he acknowledged.

            “If it weren’t for the prince’s public manipulation of the emperor, you would still be dead,” Sendak drawled. “And if it weren’t for the fact that killing you again would be a political nightmare, you would have been executed before morning.”

            “Understood,” Shiro intoned quietly. He hadn’t really appreciated the power that he held.  To think that his life or death could serve as the tipping point between dictatorial control and total revolution was beyond surreal. In the end his status as the Grand Champion had spared him, the favor that he held with the public proving his saving grace. For once the title didn’t seem so abhorrent.

 _‘Maybe I can finally do some good,’_ he rationed hopefully as the doors to the execution chamber slammed shut behind them. _‘Maybe all this bloodshed will come to a point.’_

            Before them knelt a Galra covered in cuts and bruises, his arms twisted and tied behind him. He had been stripped of his regalia, the clothes he wore the ratty garments of a prisoner. He laughed knowingly as Shiro and Sendak approached, staring pointedly at the tiled floor. It sloped down to a drain, the purpose for it unbearably clear.

 _‘Utilitarian to the last detail,’_ Shiro noted grimly, pulling to a stop beside Sendak. To his left was a simple table, a single pistol arranged atop it. It was laser loaded, Shiro knew, a small weapon that didn’t have much use in the military save for two functions: single target assassinations and arranged executions.

            It was clear what Sendak had brought him for.

            “He was scheduled for disposal over two ven ago,” Sendak rattled off officiously, gathering a clipboard from the wall. “It seems his executioner fell ill.”

            Shiro regarded him suspiciously, not sure what to make of the information. _‘Did you plan this from the beginning? Are you really so self-interested that you found a way for me to restore Zarkon’s faith just for_ your _end profit?’_

            As Sendak turned to him, Shiro caught the briefest flash of amusement.

 _‘Of course you are,’_ he surmised at once.

            “Do you wish to know his crimes?” Sendak offered, rifling through the papers a moment.

            “No,” Shiro declined instantly, his voice seeming to awake the prisoner’s attentions.

            “Vrepmyza?” the man rasped, his voice decidedly raw. Shiro swallowed a breath, facing the kneeling captive. Despite his situation, the Galra was smiling, something akin to fire shining in his eyes. “I’ve been blessed.”

            “You’re being put to death,” Sendak reminded him bluntly.

            “True,” the other panted out a laugh, glaring up at the admiral willfully. “But nothing will die with me.”

            “Your threats bear no weight, Vektor,” Sendak dismissed with a sneer. “You’re not the martyr you think you are.”

            Shiro started, sluggish horror churning through his veins. He’d recognized the name at once: Ensign Vektor, the military turncoat who had joined the Vesh and made an attempt on Zarkon’s life that day in the theatre. The same man that Avox had mentioned. The one described as a single father.

 _‘I can’t orphan a child,’_ he inwardly recoiled. _‘I can’t break a family apart.’_ He could still remember with visceral clarity the moment he had received news of his mothers’ deaths, the feelings of abject disbelief, fear, and grief that came with it. The deep seated anger he’d harbored towards the driver who had taken their lives, the endless wonderings and what ifs.

            Would they be proud of him for his acceptance onto the Kerberos Mission? Would they have fought the Garrison like Keith had, failed to believe him dead? _What_ would they have thought of Keith, the single most important person in his life? Would they still love him, knowing the horrible things he had done? All questions he would never get the answers to. He missed and needed them so badly. But they were gone. Forever. And there was nothing he could do to get them back.

 _‘I can’t do this to someone else,’_ he recognized, even as the gun was fitted against his palm, _‘I can’t leave them to a lifetime of wondering.’_

            He’d done enough of it on his own.

            What would it be like to have them back for just one day? One hour? How would it have felt to have them by his side when he graduated the academy? When he left that fateful day for a doomed mission? Would they have let Keith live alone, reduced to squatting just to get by? Shiro didn’t think so. Keith would have been given a place to stay, somewhere to feel loved and welcomed. They would have made a family all their own. Shiro ached for that reality with such fervor it hurt.

            He wanted them to be there for everything, for all the things that could never be. He wanted them by his side when he moved out, to have someone to turn to for the mundane things he never got to learn: how to do his taxes or how to choose his own insurance. He wanted them to be there to share in his excitements, his accomplishments, even his sorrows. He wanted them to be there for all the big events, he wanted to be able to give them a grandchild, knowing full well that they were never able to give him the siblings they so desperately wanted. He wanted them there when he married Keith.

            The thought struck him with crystallizing brilliance.

 _‘I want to marry Keith,’_ he realized with absolute certainty. He looked to the gun in his hands, his path made abundantly clear.

            “ _Vrepmyza_ ,” Sendak pressed, “Insubordination at this stage will end you in no better predicament than his.”

            Shiro nodded, locking eyes with Vektor. The turncoat smiled in grim acceptance, eyelids fluttering closed as he bowed his head.

            Shiro exhaled slowly.

 _This is the only way forward,’_ he absolved himself. _‘This is the only way to protect Keith, to protect all of us. Only once he’s safe can I restore to him all the things that he deserves: all the friends and family that he’s accumulated, all the support and comfort he’s found there. And, if he so chooses,’_ he finished, the thought steadying his hand, _‘All the love I have for him, for the rest of our lives.’_

            “Any last words?” Sendak administered.

            Vektor laughed softly, unmoving as he spoke.

            “Vol sa!”

            The separatist’s salute echoed about the tiled room.

            And Shiro took the shot.

            He watched, transfixed, as the bolt of energy cut through the other man, the laser bullet disappearing in his crown only to reemerge rapidly through the back of his neck, shooting to the ground and fizzling out, leaving only a small singed divot in its wake. Vektor sagged forward, instantly dead, the bound form of his body slumping heavily to the side. The blood followed, thick and plummy, creating a macabre halo where Vektor lay.

            “You said he wasn’t a martyr,” Shiro murmured, setting the gun aside.

            Sendak paused, the clipboard tucked under his arm as he made for the adjoining room. “I lied,” came the rumbled reply.

            Shiro stood before the body a moment longer, high off adrenaline and numbing out to his surroundings. He had killed before – the rings in his ear bore tribute to that. And he had killed innocents. Plenty. But that was before, a clear divide between the past and the present. The pull of a trigger and that line had become muddled.

            _‘This is who I am,’_ Shiro thought blankly. There was no before and after, no black and white between his moral and amoral selves. He was both. He was neither.

            He’d said it to Keith so many times and yet he’d never seemed to listen for his own sake: people were constantly changing, they weren’t static. And he was no different.

 _‘There’s only choice,’_ he realized, warm acceptance flooding him. It was a relief he’d never known, a catharsis brought about by the strangest of triggers. _‘I can be all these things and still reject them,’_ Shiro concluded, _‘Because only I can define the person I am, and it’s by the choices I make.’_

            The fears and anxieties of the last several days melted from him, the words of his shadow counterpart losing weight and falling away. None of it really mattered; it was superficial, subjective. What did matter to him was Keith – his happiness, his safety – and those he had left to call family – all of Team Voltron, including Thace. Who he was was of no importance: he would drag his own name through the mud if it meant the betterment of those he loved. And that was his choice, no one else’s.

            An inhale. An exhale.

            “Vrepmyza?” Sendak called, tone neutral.

            Shiro didn’t make to reply, feeling more at ease with himself than he had in a long time. When he entered the side room, Sendak appraised him, as if sensing that something was different. He made no comment, however, waiting until Shiro had taken the seat reserved for him. The admiral jotted down a final notation on his clipboard, setting it down and letting it scrape across the table they were seated at as he made room for his arms.

            Shiro decided to break the silence.

            “Is it enough?” he asked, eyes flitting to the chamber beside them.

            “For Zarkon?” Sendak mused. “We shall see.”

            “It’s only the beginning,” Shiro surmised.

            “Will it matter?”

            “Not for long,” Shiro promised.

            Sendak searched him a moment, nodding at length. “Good,” he asserted, lapsing back into contemplative silence. He looked older than Shiro had remembered: something about the firm set of his lips or the permanent furrow of his brow revealing the stress of his ever-constant climb. Bloodshed aside, he had put in actual effort, and the taxation of obligation and backstabbing was beginning to show.

            Sendak laced his fingers together in thought, for once able to due to the proportionate size of his new arm, and Shiro wondered idly what it had been like in the interim, during the time he was away. How he had lost the limb in the first place, what the mission was that had taken him from City Station. What traumas he must have been through, all locked away under a cold exterior.

 _‘Zarkon was making to get rid of him then,’_ he understood suddenly. _‘Sendak may be a bit hotheaded in battle, but what he lacks in planning he makes up for in skill, experience, and endurance. For him to have lost his arm must have really taken something. There’s no way he ended up where he did by mistake; if Zarkon was already feeling pressured then I’ve got to wonder how much he’s squirming now.’_

            Sendak had made no illusion about his character or his ambitions, at least not to Shiro. _‘He’s already got the admiralcy,’_ the paladin calculated. _‘And to my understanding he’s been reinstated as Zarkon’s Second-in-Command. It’s a risky move for Zarkon, but also a clever one. He’s baiting Sendak to try and kill him, knowing full well that if Sendak succeeded that he’d be caught. All the better if he tried and failed. It’s no wonder that Sendak is in support of our mission – if we’re successful then he has a viable bid for the throne._

 _‘Unless…’_ he considered uneasily. _‘Unless Keith is officially named as Zarkon’s heir and he takes over as emperor.’_ He regarded Sendak warily, uncertain how far the other man would push. _‘Would he try and kill Keith?’_ It wasn’t an unreasonable notion; Sendak had shown little reserve when fighting the paladins in the past, after all. But the move would be unwise and Sendak was cunning: like Shiro, Keith’s popularity with the public had protected him from worse fates – were either of them to come to harm the masses would renounce him.

            _‘So what is it?’_ Shiro wondered privately. _‘What’s your game, Sendak?’_

The admiral looked to him, gaze hardening with a sudden sense of resolve. “You must realize by now,” he began, tapping a finger to the desk, “That what happened here was an assignment and not a punishment.”

            “I understand,” Shiro returned. It was a political gesture, and nothing more. One that served both of their needs. One that came at the cost of a life. Shiro dropped his gaze, remembering Vektor’s peaceful acceptance. He may have pulled the trigger, but the blood wasn’t on his hands.

            “I received word of your _indecorous_ behavior last night,” Sendak continued, lips twisting unpleasantly.

            Shiro stared hard at the table, mortified to think exactly what he had been informed of. To have his sexual endeavors reported to a commanding officer was bad enough, but to have that same officer also be a past partner was far worse. Even if he and Keith’s actions had amounted to little, the general response was that they had been caught actually fucking. It was hard not to wonder just who had informed the admiral.

            “Since then I have been trying to come up with a suiting punishment,” Sendak pressed, “And so be it, I cannot. It is glaringly obvious that the prince’s life is worth more to you than your own, and so any retribution you face would seem trivial. To punish the prince, then, would be the most logical conclusion, but,” he explained, cutting off an anxious sound of protest from Shiro, “That is something above my ability as admiral. He will, of course, be facing his own punishment, but that is at the mercy of the emperor.”

            Shiro bit back a comment, flexing his fists beneath the table. The uncertainty of not knowing what had become of Keith was driving him mad with worry. Receiving the confirmation that his boyfriend had indeed been sent to Zarkon only tripled that concern.

            “I can’t refute what Keith means to me,” Shiro admitted, not bothering with the alias.

            “As such your forced separation must feel punishment enough,” Sendak smiled coldly. “However, I cannot let you off so easily.”

            “Have a quota to meet or something?” Shiro couldn’t help but snark.

            “I _exceed_ my quotas,” Sendak returned sharply. “It’s my obligation to see to it that your willful and insubordinate acts are mete accordingly.”

            “And yet you’ve come up with nothing?” Shiro heckled.

            “I thought it would be more satisfying if you came up with the answer yourself,” Sendak shot back smugly.

            Shiro fought back an indignant snarl, knowing he had been thoroughly cornered. Of course Sendak hadn’t met him completely unprepared, it just wasn’t his way. His brand of justice was particularly cruel and it was no surprise that he’d want to exact it upon Shiro after how things had ended between them.

            “Well?” Sendak needled, reclining further over the table.

            “Further demotion,” Shiro spat out. He knew at once it wouldn’t be enough, a low bid in their twisted auction of wills.

            “Pointless,” Sendak declined instantly. “I considered it, however. Under normal circumstances you’d be knocked down a peg to Private First Class – you know what that cut in pay and personal freedoms would look like. But what point would it have?” he smiled thinly. “It would be a fruitless endeavor – I know that you will leave this place the second you get the chance. As it stands there’s obviously nothing here to make you stay.”

            Shiro flinched at the unvoiced accusation, determined not to let it get to him. “House arrest,” he offered, instantly regretting it. He couldn’t afford to be landlocked in so critical a point in the mission, yet he found rather quickly that he had little to offer the admiral.

            “Counterproductive,” Sendak refused. “It would interfere with your other duties.”

            _‘Right,’_ Shiro realized begrudgingly. _‘And it would be of personal deficit to you.’_

“I could be assigned to the armory,” Shiro fielded, “It can always use an inventory.”

            “As if I’m allowing you near a surplus of weapons.”

            “Fine, the laundry, then? That’d be humiliating enough, wouldn’t it?”

            “What would be humiliating is your complete inability to launder.”

            “What, you want _another_ one of my limbs?”

 _“Vrepmyza,”_ Sendak growled.

            “I’m trying!” Shiro snapped.

            “Well try harder.”

            “Well you’ve already killed me, so good luck topping _that_.”

            “You say that like you’re bitter.”

            “How could I _not_ be?”

            “You would have done the same.”

            “That’s irrelevant.”

            “A punishment, Vrepmyza.”

            “This conversation,” Shiro shot back. “If you don’t like my answers to your sadistic little game then I suppose you’ll have to come up with some yourself.”

            “Fine,” Sendak returned testily. “The gal’stara. I’ll take the gal’stara.”

            “Nai?” Shiro balked. “I love her!”

            “Oh, you love _the gal’stara_ ,” Sendak sniped back.

            “What would you even do with her?”

            “She is _my_ gal’stara,” the admiral sniffed.

            “She was in _my_ apartment.”

            “She crawls through the ducts.”

            “For what purpose?”

            “To beg for scraps.”

            “Don’t you feed her!?”

            “She envenomated me too many times.”

            “So what,” Shiro snapped, “You just _abandoned_ her?”

            “I do _NOT_ abandon,” Sendak returned harshly, bristling with anger. Shiro quieted, able to see through to the true nature of his words.

            “You left first,” he whispered.

            “I _didn’t_ leave,” Sendak countered, voice terse but soft. “I was sent away on mission. What did you expect? That I’d disobey orders? You know what that would mean.”

            “Vrepit sa,” Shiro murmured.

            “Vrepit sa,” Sendak repeated tiredly.

            “Did you miss me?” Shiro uttered. It wasn’t appropriate to ask, not anymore, but he had to know.

            “Don’t ask me that.”

            “So you did?”

            “You didn’t,” Sendak said instead. “Not even a note, the Station up in arms.”

            “I went home.”

            “You _were_ home.”

            They lapsed into silence, unable to look at one another. Shiro didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He had only just remembered who Sendak had been to him, the news sudden and overwhelming. It would have been one thing if it had been just objective fact, but it wasn’t. Everything he had felt was there, just beneath the surface. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, he had no room to. And it didn’t matter, anyway.

            He was a more complete person than he had been when he had first met Sendak. He’d had different experiences since then, had come to see the world in a new light for good or for ill, had developed further his sense of self. And he had to – it was inevitable. But his needs and desires had changed and they no longer matched up to the reality of their shared past. Still, it didn’t make the things he felt any less visceral.

            “This can’t keep happening,” Shiro voiced lowly.

            “I’m not asking it to.”

            “You are,” Shiro shook his head. “We can’t do this anymore.”

            “The prince?”

            “In part,” Shiro sighed.

            “In part?” Sendak echoed.

            “I love him.”

            “I know.”

            “And…”

            “Don’t say it.”

            “I have to,” Shiro countered. “I have to be clear.”

            “You don’t hate me anymore?” Sendak filled in, voice strained.

            “Not like that,” Shiro exhaled. It would be too complicated to admit that the feelings still lingered, maybe looked different than described.

            “You’re faithful,” Sendak stated knowingly.

            “I strive to be,” Shiro nodded. “It’s important. It’s everything. Keith deserves the world.”

            “I understand,” Sendak replied crisply, the emotion wiping from his face. “And I also understand that this isn’t the right time or place to be talking about this.”

            “I don’t think there will ever be,” Shiro concurred, watching perhaps for the last time as the private side of Sendak disappeared from view. He fiddled with his hands, feeling a loss.

            “I’m no longer in the clear state of mind to authorize your punishment,” Sendak concluded, gaze fixed to the side. “I’m removing myself from the equation. You are hereby ordered to seek council with the Conduct Review Board; they will decide something suiting.”

            “Understood, sir,” Shiro returned, rising from his seat stiffly and making to leave. Sendak watched him go, neither of them speaking. But Shiro hesitated, lingering in the doorway before the execution chamber. He felt he should say something, anything, a few parting words that could fill the chasm between them.

            _‘It’s done,’_ he resolved to himself.

            No words came to him. Thinking the better of it, he moved on, pushing passed the metal doors and into the hallway beyond, ready to accept whatever fate awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! Sorry I posted late tonight, I fell asleep and had to make dinner for Ches and I at, like, 9 PM. Whoops! ^^;;;; 
> 
> And here is a chapter by the lovely Cheshirecity! I absolutely love the way she writes Shiro and Sendak's interactions, and I hope you feel the same! She teared up writing this chapter, and I must admit that I did as well, especially during the part where Shiro thinks about his mothers. 
> 
> As for now, it looks like Shiro and Sen have a bit of closure for now, but Sendak's part in this story is FAR from over ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your love and support <3 Ches and I are hard at work on the next installment in this series, and its already over 75k! We can't wait until we can share it with you~


	18. Heal

            The halls of the Druid compound hummed faintly, the vibrations of the ship around them twinning with the flicker of preternatural flame and magicks. Keith navigated it stolidly, avoiding eye contact with the masked shades that loitered the space and seemed to watch after him intently. He was in their turf, he knew, and – despite his status – was made to feel uncomfortable at once.

            “You mustn’t mind them,” Maray quipped from his side. “They’re just intimidated to have an outsider in their midst – they’re very private on the whole.”

            “The ones in the med bay are nicer,” Keith grumbled in turn, pressing a palm to a door sensor and heading precisely there.

            “An obligatory bedside manner will do that to you,” the planner pointed out.

            They had made for an unusual companion in Tora’s absence, Vespi having been completely rejected by Keith the moment she tried to rouse him that morning. She had taken it in stride, more grateful than anything to be banished from the prince’s presence. Keith, then, was left to dress himself, wondering what would become of his day until his match that evening. Dread had settled in his stomach and he had pushed it away, setting about the platter of breakfast he had been brought and forcing himself to think of anything else.

            It had taken around an hour – little more than two ven – to come up with a solution. Keith wasn’t sure whose idea it was to send a board member in the stead of a handmaiden, but he was comfortable with Maray and welcomed the company all the same. The organizer had chatted with him – or, rather, _at_ him – for a majority of their descent to the Third Ring, no doubt trying to keep him distracted.

 _‘They may be a bit odd,’_ Keith considered, _‘But they’re kind. They have to plan the specifics of my match, after all. That must be a lot of work, what with the sudden need for announcements and publicity – it’s a lot to schedule at the last minute.’_

            He wondered how Maray managed it all, coming to the conclusion that it must involve an inordinate amount of caffeine. _‘You’d think they’d be annoyed to be removed from their job at this time,’_ Keith mused, _‘Seeing as they’re still expected to do it. Though it does explain why they can’t accompany me all day. Still… they seemed worried for me. It’s sweet.’_

            Keith figured that concern might, too, be related to the numerous bruises he was sporting across his face and neck, the results anything but subtle. He had tried to mess with the foundations and creams that Tora had used on him after he had been reconditioned, but he found that he was poor with them, causing the makeup to smear and crease. In frustration he’d wiped his face clean, resolving to just go without. It wasn’t his responsibility to hide the evidence of his abuse, anyway.

            Maray had been shocked when Keith had opened the door to them, immediately asking what had happened. Keith had said nothing, making neither to reveal or deny what had become of him. Instead he asked after the day’s events, finding that he had been scheduled to see the Druids at the med bay to check on the condition of his new leg.

 _‘They’re probably going to give me more Quintessence,’_ he realized with some bitterness. Even after his morning dose the marks had remained, thankfully diminished in color but still undeniably present. As much as they ached Keith didn’t want them to disappear so soon. He wanted them to be seen, to be interpreted. He wanted to make Zarkon squirm.

 _‘l could just refuse it,’_ he strategized as he came to the final door, _‘But even still, I’ll probably be dolled up before the arena just to make sure the public doesn’t know what’s happened. Even if the makeup were to wear off mid-match, it would just appear as if they were fresh injuries from whatever hellish opponent they’ve concocted for me.’_ He shivered, and the feeling of dread returned.

            A Druid stepped forward, her attendants clothing making her seem approachable. She had piled her long hair at the top of her head, but it was already coming down in wisps despite the early hour. “Busy day?” Keith suggested as she led him to a private room.

            “You could say that,” she exhaled, “It’s been three okak and we’re still dealing with the fallout of the separatist’s attack. That’s what you get for prioritizing the gentry over the commoner. No offense,” she added hastily.

            “None taken,” Keith assured. “It isn’t a fair system.”

            The nurse appraised him lightly, a smile coming to her face. “I’m Apprentice Druid Quinna, by the way. I’ll be assessing your progress.”

            Keith had already bickered with Maray about the ranks among the Druids. “If they’re called Druids as a whole then why do they have ‘Druid’ and ‘Apprentice Druid’ as separate ranks? Like oh, I’m a Druid-Druid. How stupid is that?”

            “ _I_ don’t make the rules here,” Maray pointed out. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

            “Here,” Quinna gestured, “This room is ready for you.”

            Keith nodded, slipping inside and climbing up onto the bed. He’d never noticed that it levitated before, too drugged in the past to pay much mind. Quinna set to work, conservatively rolling back the hem of his tunic to get better access to his leg.

            He had been surprised to see his attire that morning, uncertain just who had modified it for him. He highly doubted that the garment was new – everything he’d worn so far was pilfered from the closet he’d come to recognize as his mother’s. And yet when he went to dress he found that the white flight suit had been hemmed on the left side to meet flesh with the top of his prosthetic, leaving it free of the material. He’d been thankful for the small change, figuring that the removal of the close fitting fabric would enhance his mobility.

            This Quinna scooted back as well, exposing the still-healing scar tissue, almost whitish against the lavender of his skin. “It’s looking well,” she determined, touching at the area with gloved hands. “How is your pain?” She reached over, touching the discoloration of his wrist subtly. Keith met her questioning gaze, shaking his head.

            “Minimal,” he answered with duality. “I mean, I wouldn’t say that it’s even painful, just… achy? It throbs from time to time, and that’s usually a sign I need to take my meds.”

            Quinna cocked her head in question.

            “Quintessence,” Keith corrected, and she nodded.

 _‘They really use that stuff as a cure-all for everything,’_ he marveled with some disgust. _‘I know it’s convenient but I can’t imagine being completely dependent on something that came at such a cost. I feel guilty enough about it as it is.’_

            “Are you taking everything as prescribed?” Quinna followed up.

            “Oh yes,” Keith laughed, “Absolutely. I’d be miserable otherwise.”

            “I would imagine,” the Apprentice hummed. “As good as you may feel now, however,” she continued, shooting a pointed look at Maray, “It would do you well to stay off your feet.”

            Maray made a nervous laugh, looking responsible.

            “That said,” Quinna surmised, straightening up and arranging his clothes back to their former state. “Things look like they’re progressing nicely. We will see you in a few okak, right before docking at Gal. At such time we will arrange for future appointments on the home planet should you decide to tour the continent. I imagine then that you would go to Pryz, capital of Zahtyrala. Capital of all of Gal, in fairness. It’s a lovely city, besides.”

            “Thank you,” Keith returned diplomatically, all the while knowing that he’d never make the journey in the first place. Properly dismissed, he took his leave, following Maray back to the lobby of the med bay. The doors to the clinic swung open after them, admitting Zuna, who seemed out of breath.

            “Your Majesty,” she panted, reaching out to touch his arm. “So glad that I caught you.”

            “Hey,” Keith returned in surprise, giving the Ovate a moment to breathe. “Is everything alright?”

            “I, uh,” she paused, noticing the curious Maray behind them. “I need to talk with you in private,” she intoned, looking to Keith earnestly, “Some of your lab results came back.”

            “Right,” the prince hummed, trying to sound convincing. “Hope everything is well. Maray,” he paused, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll meet up with you in a moment, alright?”

            “Oh,” the organizer blinked, looking about the lobby uncertainly. They grabbed for a magazine, leafing idly through its plastic pages. “I will wait. Right here. Until you return,” they informed in staccato.

            Keith gave them an apologetic look, eagerly following after Zuna. The Ovate led him down a wing of the med bay, the dim lights suggesting it was scarcely used. “In here,” she murmured, checking the hall. “It’s the best I can do; be quick.”

            Keith nodded in confusion, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. He brightened immediately. “Shiro,” he breathed, crossing the room in a few strides to embrace his boyfriend. Shiro squeezed him gently, nuzzling a smile against the crook of Keith’s neck.

            “Keith,” he returned seriously, pulling away and staring at the other with concern. “What happened?” He thumbed over the bruise at Keith’s cheek, voice almost angry. “How did this happen?” he pressed, tone hardening.

            “I… I think you know how,” Keith responded with a grimace.

            “ _Zarkon,_ ” Shiro spat.

            “Yeah,” Keith nodded. “It was bullshit but I’m fine.”

            “Fine?” Shiro repeated incredulously. “Word’s gotten around – I’ve heard about the Coliseum tonight. I thought that was your punishment, but…” he whimpered, regarding the bruises littering Keith’s body.

            “I chose the arena,” the red paladin sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I knew I had to restore my honor in his eyes. It was the best thing I could think of.”

            “But what if –?”

            “I die?” Keith laughed humorlessly. “That’d look shit for Zarkon.”

            “You’re right,” Shiro relaxed. “He’d never let that happen; the match will probably be largely staged.”

            “Still,” Keith murmured, unable to banish the memory of Zarkon’s violence, “I can’t imagine they’ll make it easy on me, either.”

            “Probably not,” Shiro huffed. “Do you know if they’ll allow you a weapon? I mean…” he motioned to his Galra arm.

            “No idea. Worse comes to worse I do have passable claws and fangs,” Keith shrugged nervously. “Although I admit that I am considerably smaller than all the other Galra.”

            “Maybe your bayard, then?” Shiro suggested.

            “I can hope,” Keith sighed, suddenly frowning. “Wait, why are you here? What happened to _you_?”

            Shiro winced, indicating to his back gently. “I received my punishment and then was sent here. The Quintessence has taken the edge off, but I don’t think it’ll be enough to heal up everything. At least it should be free of infection.”

            “Everything?” Keith echoed. “Shiro, what happened?”

            “Flogging.”

            “ _Sendak,_ ” came the venomous reply. “That fucker, I’ll –!”

            “No,” Shiro interjected swiftly, drawing a look. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “He… he didn’t do this. He didn’t want to be a part of it. Sent me to Conduct Review – it’s kind of like a small trial for misdemeanors among the military – and they sentenced me with this. I’ll be alright, it just still stings a lot.”

            “How dare they hurt you like this,” Keith muttered aggressively, returning to Shiro’s arms. “I’d never allow it.”

            “I know,” Shiro soothed, petting the space between his ears. “But we don’t have time for this conversation; I imagine you’ve been missed.”

            “I don’t want to go.”

            “I know,” Shiro repeated. “Me neither. Listen, though, you know the arboretum? When we were in there the other day I ran into Thace. We decided that it would be a good place to meet in secret. Try and get there and I’ll follow when I’m done here. I was supposed to meet up with Thace, anyway. It’ll be a good time for all of us.”

            “Alright,” Keith agreed, stealing a kiss. He wanted more, but time was pressing. With a small whine he broke away, slipping out of the room and retracing his steps to the lobby. Maray was still there, deeply engrossed in an article about gardening and twisting their tail idly.

            “Ready?” they chimed, stowing the magazine beneath their arm rather than returning it to the pile from whence it came. Keith smirked at the action, Maray winking in turn and pressing a finger to their lips.

            “Yeah, I’m ready,” Keith answered.

            “Well good, then we can take you to the tailor.”

            “Is that a scheduled appointment?”

            “Well, no,” Maray admitted. “But obviously your needs would be prioritized. We really must get you something suiting to wear for the uh, the _event_ tonight.”

            Keith pursed his lips, knowing that the other was right. With the way he was usually dripping in gems and pearls he would hardly be in any condition to battle for his life. Or, at least, his honor.

“Can we keep it simple this time?” he begged.

            “Quite,” Maray surprisingly agreed. “I was thinking that – given the nature of the circumstances – a simple uniform would be best, fitted with some armor. The Ensign’s grey would work rather well; very utilitarian and deferent while still allowing both mobility and protection. I just thought it would be best to hem the fatigues for your ah, _stature_.”

            “Thank you,” the paladin sighed, feeling somewhat relieved. Shiro hadn’t been afforded a luxury such as armor and with the extreme difference in their levels of experience he was glad that he wouldn’t be made to fight without any defenses.

            “But of course,” Maray forced a confident smile. “They’ll be in the First Ring and –.”

            “Actually,” Keith interjected, following the planner to the terminal between the Third and Second Rings. “I was hoping we could stop by the arboretum. I really enjoyed it last time.”

            “The arboretum?” the other mused, glancing surreptitiously to the magazine tucked beneath their arm. “Well I suppose a simple diversion wouldn’t hurt,” they settled on. “After all, you _were_ told to rest and the greenhouse has plenty of seating.”

            The rest of the journey was swift, the pair cutting through the fairgrounds as best they could, the stalls still bustling with customers in the aftereffects of Keith’s homecoming celebrations. The arboretum came into view, the thick iron of its doors molded into the outlines of trees. Maray held one open and they entered, stopping nearly immediately.

            “I’ve been set up,” Maray huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. “Prince, you have set me up.”

            Thace blinked at them both, caught completely off guard. “Ah…” he hesitated, searching for an excuse. “The prince requested an impromptu lesson,” he fibbed quickly. “In the… arboretum.”

            “Mnhmn,” Maray hummed skeptically.

            “Aesthetic,” Keith adjoined.

            “There’s a lot to learn about the natural vegetation of Gal,” Thace pressed. “And that of the planets within the Empire; a lot of history can be derived from what’s housed here.”

            “I didn’t realize you were a botanist,” Maray cocked a brow.

            “It’s a hobby,” Keith offered.

            “Yes,” Thace smiled manically. “Definitely.”

            “Right,” Maray drawled, pointing a finger at the prince. “I am cross with you but I suppose I’ll allow whatever shenanigan you’re up to given that I’ve kind of gotten attached to you. I’ll be back in a few ven so use your time wisely.” They sighed, leaning in towards the paladin conspiratorially. “You’ve certainly got interesting tastes.”

            It took Keith a moment to process the statement. “Oh no!” he exclaimed, flushing darkly. “No, no, no you’ve completely misunderstood; that is –!”

            But Maray was already waving him farewell and gliding through the front doors, leaving Thace and Keith to mortified disbelief. The prince shook his head, dismayed. “Is that what people think?” he muttered.

            Thace shrugged helplessly, completely aghast. “I’ve gotten quips regarding Shiro,” he admitted, to which Keith pulled a face.

            “Okay, stop,” he protested. “It’s too weird.”

            “Speaking of Shiro,” Thace pressed, looking about. “I’ve been expecting him. I take it you ran into –?” he paused, taking stock of Keith’s appearance, brows knitting in concern. “ _Kit,_ ” he breathed, bending down and gently cupping Keith’s shoulders in his palms.

            Keith allowed the action, finding comfort in Thace’s presence. He whimpered, shrugging off the touch only to collapse against the other man’s chest, hugging him tight. It seemed ridiculous to him, but he felt like crying. Tora had been a great comfort after Zarkon’s attack, but combined with the horrors of what he had read in his mother’s secret diary, Keith needed consolation from somewhere greater.

            He drank in the world around him: the protective feel of Thace’s arm at his back, the thrum of the other man’s heart in his ear. The faint scent of him: clean shirts and the light musk of his soap. They were all things he wished were familiar to him, things he should have memorized long, long ago. But he had been robbed of such affections, Zarkon having seen to it that his family was torn apart. He loathed him for it, knowing all the while that both his life and Serro’s would have been far worse if they had stayed.

            _‘That’s_ not _a father,’_ he restated with conviction.

            Thace held onto Keith quietly, finger combing the back of his hair and petting at his ears one handedly, bracing him close with the other. He didn’t press for details, likely able to figure them out on his own. His body shook, and Keith knew without looking that he was furious.

            “It’s okay,” he soothed absent mindedly.

            “It’s absolutely _not_ okay,” Thace returned at once. “Abuse is _never_ okay.”

            Keith flinched at the word, thinking on his mother. On Orkah. He had seen Zarkon’s façade slip in a way that only they had, and it had been terrifying. He couldn’t imagine being subjected to it on a daily basis, the way Zarkon had been punishingly cruel one moment and almost kind the next, all the while maintaining a forceful nature. It was just too much.

            The proximity had been easier under his fugue. “Lotor” was unconcerned, almost naïve, and that innocence had spared him from Zarkon’s true disposition. He had been servile, useful. But the second he had returned to himself, had become “Keith” once more, and all of that security fell away. Even under the guise of the prince, things had changed for him. In a single instance Zarkon had made him fear him. And there was nothing and no one Keith feared. At least not for himself.

            “Are you alright?” Thace asked quietly.

            “I will be,” Keith answered realistically. “I just…” the first few tears slipped forth and he turned against Thace’s chest, willing them away.

            “You just?”

            “I don’t know,” Keith mumbled. He hated feeling vulnerable. “I just need time, I think. I’ll be okay.”

            “You don’t have to be,” Thace told him, pulling away just enough so they could look at one another. “Take all the time you need. What… what happened?”

            Keith shivered, knowing what was being asked of him. After what he had read there was room for a lot of worry. “Just physical stuff,” he clarified. The shapes of the marks along his cheek and neck were evident enough of being slapped and nearly strangled, the bouquet of bruises along his ribs hidden from sight but sharply reminding him of the feel of Zarkon’s boots.

            Thace exhaled slowly with a nod. “That’s…” he trailed off, and Keith knew what he meant. None of it was good, but it was still far better than the alternatives.

            “It’s not like it was with mom.”

            Thace blinked, looking down at him in surprise. “You know of that?”

            “Yeah,” Keith murmured, finally letting them part. “Inside and out: it was in her diary.”

            “What?” Thace breathed, gaze a mix of hope and despair. “Where did you find that? In your room?”

            “No, actually,” Keith smiled sadly. “It was in one of the books that you brought me. There was a bookmark in one of them and the diary was hidden in there; Licorice helped me to find it.”

            “He would,” Thace gave a little laugh. “Serro loved that obstinate mouse.”

            “I…” Keith paused, unsure of what all he should say. “I read a lot,” he admitted at length. “Certainly not everything, but… enough.”

            “So you know then?” Thace sighed. “That she was the blue paladin?”

            “Yeah,” Keith frowned. “I just… why did you lie about her? You knew so much and yet you never said. Why hide the fact that she was a paladin? I don’t get it.”

            Thace made a pained expression, matching Keith in pace as they strolled through the greenhouse. “It’s… it’s complicated,” he confessed, trying to compose his words. “I’m sorry for hiding the truth from you. It’s not that I wanted to or had ill intent, please understand that. I… I wanted to preserve her memory.

            “You deserve to know who she was, how wonderful and funny and independent she was. How loving. But I couldn’t give you that truth without all of the bad. You would have wanted to know what had become of her, questioned why the narrative stopped so short. Who the other paladins were, what they were like. Too much was tied up in that truth, and I didn’t want to unravel it all before you were ready. It’s… it’s a lot to process.

            “And you told me that you had some memory of her and I didn’t want to risk ruining that for you. I didn’t want you to have to know how much she suffered or how you…” he swallowed hard, lip toyed between teeth in emotion, “Or how you might have come about. That’s not a thing anyone would ever want to know.”

            Keith nodded quietly at his side. He understood how Thace felt, the desperate need to protect the honor of someone they loved. It was love that made him destroy her portrait; try to scrub away the horrors of a past that couldn’t be undone.

            “If you told me that she was the blue paladin,” he surmised, “Then I would have been able to realize that she and my mother were the same person. That’s why you never even mentioned her name.”

            Thace offered a soft laugh, “You have me figured out, now, kit.”

            “She talked about you, you know,” Keith told him. “A lot, really. You were always on her mind and, later, so was I.”

            “She loved us both very much,” Thace returned wistfully, “And we loved her. I still do.”

            “I’m sorry that she didn’t make it. That…” he couldn’t finish the sentiment: that your kit died with her.

            Thace just hung his head in understanding. “You needn’t apologize for that,” he consoled.

            “I know,” Keith fidgeted, “It wasn’t my fault – it wasn’t _anyone’s_ fault,” he added, looking purposefully to Thace. “It just… it must be hard, having gone all these years only to find that…”

            “I found you,” Thace offered, at once awash with warmth. “And that is enough: more than enough. I am so thankful.”

            “I’ve been an asshole to you,” Keith responded sheepishly.

            “I imagine I deserved it.”

            “No,” Keith countered, “You didn’t, you really didn’t. I didn’t give you enough credit. It’s just… it’s part of who I am. I have a hard time warming up to people, I always have. It’s just so difficult to open up like that and actually trust someone. Especially if…” he shifted uncomfortably, squashing down the years of disappointment and hurt, “Especially if you think they’ll just leave you in the end.”

            “No one’s going to leave you, kit,” Thace reassured. “Especially not me, not unless you wish it.”

            “I don’t,” Keith rushed, stopping them before the service entry. “You’ve done so much for me, for mom, for Shiro. Hell, all of Team Voltron. And I haven’t appreciated any of it, not until now. And I’m sorry that it took me so long and that I’ve been so stubborn.

            “I didn’t really know what kind of person you were – you _are_. I read how mom fell in love with you, how you were so kind and respectful to her and how you cared about others, always trying to make sure that nobody was forgotten. You risked your life to protect, and I know without doubt that it wasn’t the first or the last time. Even being a prince you were humble. And no matter what you’ve had to do under Zarkon’s thumb I know that is still who you truly are at heart. Everything you’ve done was to protect me, to honor mom. To… to let us be a family again, like we all deserved,” he insisted, and damn it if he wasn’t tearing up again.

            “And even this mission you’ve done so much. I… I doubted you, when we were brought to the throne room. I thought that my trust had been misplaced, that you’d betrayed us. But… I understand now. I’m not angry. I think we all know that I’m not a good enough actor to have pretended to be Lotor from the start; I had to experience it first.”

            “Keith,” Thace interjected importantly, “I never meant for you to be reconditioned. That was never, _ever_ a part of the plan. I thought that turning ourselves in would suffice, I –.”

            “It’s okay,” Keith soothed, placing a hand to his arm. “It’s been done, anyway. My point is that you’ve gone out of your way to make sure I came back to my senses, to make sure that Shiro was alright and that we were both as safe as we could be.”

            Thace barked a sad laugh. “But haven’t I failed in that?” he asked miserably. “You’ve both been hurt, horrifically. Shiro was murdered. You lost your leg. And…” he looked at Keith, taking in all the bruises, his expression crumpling in pain. “I haven’t protected you enough.”

            “You’ve done what you could,” Keith disagreed gently. “You’re as loyal to this mission as we are.”

            “But you come first,” Thace countered. “You will always come first to me, damn the world, the galaxies. I would throw it all away to protect you. I should have done better.”

            “And that’s why you’re my dad,” Keith murmured.

            Thace froze, eyes wide. “What?” he asked softly. “What did you –?”

            “You’re my dad,” Keith repeated, locking eyes with him. “I read about what happened when mom told you the news, how you still loved her – still loved _me_ – and did everything you could for us. How you considered me your kit even then. How you still see me that way. And you’re right – it doesn’t matter if we’re related by blood or not. You’ve been there for me, supported me, cared for the people I love, accepted Shiro, literally abandoned everything you’ve ever known for me. You’re what a parent should be; of course you’re the only one I’d ever consider to be my father.”

            Thace stared a moment, shocked and trembling with emotion. A moment later and he was embracing Keith, nuzzling against the side of his head, whispering frantically. “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated over and over. “My kit, my sweet kit. I love you.”

            “I love you, too, dad,” Keith returned, tears unchecked. He sniffed, holding tight to the other man. There was a soft crunch of footsteps on gravel and they parted, trying to effect normalcy as the stranger approached.

            “In here,” Thace motioned, opening the service entry door quietly and gesturing inside.

            “Hey,” Shiro called, just a moment quicker. Father and son relaxed at once.

            “Shiro,” Keith beamed, running to his side to embrace him. Shiro laughed, squeezing him gently and placing a kiss to the top of his head.

            “Hey babe,” he whispered. Then, a little louder, “You guys alright? You both look, ah…” he paused, trying to find a nice enough word.

            “Like a wreck?” Keith supplied him, still wiping at his eyes with a wrist. “Yeah, I know.”

            “I would say we’re better than alright,” Thace answered, passing through the doorway. “But let’s come in here, shall we?”

            Shiro and Keith followed suit, locking themselves inside the room before finding places to rest. Shiro resumed his seat on the ginormous flower pot while Keith sat cross legged at his feet, reclining gently against his boyfriend’s legs.

            “So,” Shiro posed, looking between them. “What’s been established? How are things?”

            Keith spoke up first, offering a brief synopsis of their conversation, most of which had been private, which he danced around. Shiro smiled throughout, getting a feeling for the bulk of what had transpired. He placed a comforting hand to Keith’s shoulder as his boyfriend finished, only to be prompted by Thace to relay his experiences.

            Shiro winced, not sure how to go about recounting his conversations with Sendak, knowing how they would sound. It was awkward but necessary, and he knew he’d have to talk openly with Keith about it. But Sendak was his past and that was that: there was no point in bringing it up presently. Instead he talked about Vektor and how Sendak had refused to personally punish him, leading to his flogging.

            “Are you alright?” Thace frowned.

            “More or less,” Shiro shrugged, “I was sent to the med bay immediately afterwards so it’s not like they wanted me to experience prolonged suffering. Which is generous, I suppose,” he surmised begrudgingly. “Almost lost my way trying to get through the arboretum, though,” he admitted. “This place is kind of a maze. But I knew when I saw the Mother’s Hands that I was getting close.”

            “What?” Keith asked, turning to him alertly.

            “Oh, it’s a flower,” Shiro explained. “The big orange one that –.”

            “Not that,” Keith interrupted impatiently. “What’s it called?”

            “The Mother’s Hands?” Shiro recited, suddenly uncertain. “Why?”

            “I read about that,” Keith spoke excitedly. “Mom kind of dismissed it in her diary but I knew that it would be important; I had no idea that it was here, though.”

            “What do you mean, kit?” Thace prompted with a frown. “What did Serro know?”

            “It’s about Haggar,” Keith explained. “She… well,” he paused, rethinking his words, “Alright, I’m going to have to start from the beginning.” The next several minutes he recounted the events of Zarkon and Orkah’s final fight, Haggar’s role, and her inevitable weakness.

            “So if we get Haggar near to the Ossuary and remove the hex bag then the spirits of the past Mothers of Constellations will attack her?” Shiro rephrased carefully.

            “Yes,” Keith nodded. “Particularly Mugenleb, from the sounds of it – that’s the one that scared the bejeezus out of us when we were brought to the bunker.”

            “Serro never told me about that event,” Thace murmured. “At least, not about the part with Haggar. I knew that removing her from the equation would be integral to defeating Zarkon, but up till now I had no idea how to go about doing so.”

            “Which means all we need to do now is find an opportune time to separate them so we can carry out the assassination,” Keith concluded.

            “That could be a lot harder than it sounds,” Thace frowned. “They’re always together, and it makes sense why. We’d have to not only get them away from each other but also get them alone. Any interference could jeopardize everything.”

            “Not to mention,” Shiro scowled, “We’ll have to execute these plans more or less in tandem – Haggar will have to be taken out first but we can’t let Zarkon be tipped off to her death, meaning we’d have to depose of him immediately after.”

            “Super,” Keith groaned.

            “We’ll find a way,” Thace encouraged, straightening from his recline against the wall and brushing out his clothes. “I need to relay all of this to Lance and the others; they’ll be eager to know what all has happened. I must admit that I’ve been censoring the events of late,” he added apologetically. “I figured it was necessary.”

            “Fair enough,” Keith agreed at once. “We’ve not been together for long but we’re pretty tight as a team. If they knew half the shit that’s gone down here then they’d be bustin’ down the doors for sure.”

            “That’s what I thought,” Thace sighed. “But that said, I think it’s time I elucidate them further. We’ll need all hands on deck to figure out how to proceed.” He made a little wave, stepping through the door. “Take care, you two; we’ll talk again soon.”

            Shiro started and Keith looked up to him curiously, noticing the apprehension that flashed across his boyfriend’s face. “Shiro?” he queried, drawing his attention. Shiro offered a brief smile, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before navigating around him, calling after Thace. He disappeared behind the door, leaving Keith to sit in confused silence. Several minutes elapsed and Keith rose, stretching the tingly sensations out of his organic leg, determined to see what was up. But before he had the chance, Shiro returned, poorly attempting to suppress a wide grin.

            “What was that about?” Keith cocked a brow.

            Shiro merely shook his head, scooping Keith up in his arms and kissing the apples of his cheeks.

            “Affectionate,” the prince laughed, batting at him.

            “I had to tell Thace something,” Shiro explained vaguely. “For Lance.”

            “For Lance?” Keith repeated, ears twitching apart. Shiro’s expression melted further in fondness, lofting a hand behind one of the fluffy appendages and giving it a soft scratch. Keith trilled lowly at the touch, nuzzling against it. “What’d you have to tell Lance so suddenly?”

            “I, uh,” Shiro cleared his throat, and Keith knew at once that he was lying. “I realized that our team will probably arrive here at some point and that it would be a valuable asset,” he laid out. “If the Vesh are on the verge of a coup then surely we can use that cover to create a diversion. Question is when. All said, that point would be an excellent time for Team Voltron to sneak aboard – it would also give us a good opportunity to get back to the Castle of Lions safely. I just figured it would be wise to ensure that they had maps of both the _Intrepid_ and City Station, just in case.”

            “Didn’t Pidge datamine the system?” Keith prodded.

            “Yes,” Shiro blinked. “But I’m sure that’s a lot of info to parse through; sending the maps directly would make it easier for everyone, especially seeing as we don’t have much time left.”

            “Good point,” Keith acquiesced, deciding to let the subject rest. Shiro would never lie to him without good reason and he knew that he always felt an insurmountable amount of guilt when he was forced to. But Shiro had seemed happy, so it had to be something good and Keith resolved himself to be patient to find out what.

            He smiled, tucking himself closer against his boyfriend’s chest. “I missed you,” he sighed, reaching up in askance.

            “I missed you, too,” Shiro gave a soft laugh, leaning in to kiss him, their lips melting together. The kiss deepened and Keith moaned in quiet appreciation, body surging up to meet Shiro’s own, brought closer by the strong arm secured along his back. They stumbled back a few paces, so intent on one another that balance was becoming difficult.

            Laughing at themselves they continued their kisses, Keith’s arms wrapping around the back of Shiro’s neck, his fingers woven through his short hair, pressing them closer together. They couldn’t touch one another enough, hands roaming over shoulders and chests, caressing along the lines of their sides, dipping over the jut of their hips.

            Keith’s back hit the wall and he pulled away from Shiro, grinning deviously. “Oh no,” he teased plainly, “You have me pinned.”

            “Very unfortunate,” Shiro smirked, leaving trails of kisses along Keith’s surrendering neck. Touch light so as not to hurt him further Shiro smoothed over the litany of bruises, as if his affections alone could undo the violence that his boyfriend had received.

            Keith whimpered softly, knowing without words what Shiro was conveying to him, the love and protectiveness he exuded. Eagerly, he lifted his hips, hitching his leg up over the crest of Shiro’s own. Shiro moaned appreciatively, kisses returned to Keith’s lips and deepening. With ease he picked his boyfriend up, bracing his body as Keith wrapped both of his legs around Shiro’s waist. They pulled away, breathless, both having come to the same conclusion.

            “Not here,” Keith surmised, swelling with frustration. “Too dirty.”

            Shiro hummed his agreement, keeping his hold on Keith and carrying him back to the flower pot. He sat, letting Keith relax in his lap as they rested chest-to-chest. “I want to, though,” he offered consolingly.

            “Have no doubts that I am jumping your bones the first chance I get,” Keith warned with a chuckle. “I mean it more than one way when I say that I miss you.”

            Shiro blushed, pleased. “I don’t doubt that,” he promised, bumping their foreheads together lightly. “And I miss you, too. In all ways. We’ll find time, but later, not now.”

            “Agreed,” Keith sighed, staring deep into his boyfriend’s eyes and feeling more in love than ever. “For now just stay with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally our boys get a truly private (and VERY well-deserved) moment! I wonder what Shiro said to Thace...
> 
> This was another chapter by the talented CheshireCity! She wanted me to let you guys know a few things in the author's notes, so here goes:
> 
> As requested, Ches will be posting the Shendak side fic, but first she needs to rewrite/edit it in order to be canonically compliant with the Leo Rising series (it was written before Satellite and the subsequent sequels were planned), so it will be up later on! ^^ We'll let you know in the author's notes when that goes up/right before that goes up.
> 
> Secondly, Ches and I were curious if any of you would be interested in a podfic of the Leo Rising series? We'd be more than happy to record one for you guys, so please let us know~
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your kind comments! Each and every one of them touches us and we're so, so happy that you're enjoying the story! <3 See you next Friday!


	19. Mercy

            Keith stood in the champion’s lounge, pressed up anxiously against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Beyond the thick metal door that separated him from the arena, everything was eerily quiet – no muttering fans in the stands, none of the announcer’s charismatic rumble, just a cool stretch of silence. Full of anxious energy, he pushed off of the wall and unclipped his bayard from the back of the dark grey armor he’d been allowed. He was thankful that he hadn’t been thrown into the arena dressed in his usual frilly garb – or worse, without a weapon. He extended the sword to its full length, twirling it between his hands.

            On the other side of the room, Nylan and another member of the royal guard were keeping watch over him, the former uncomfortably shifting her blaster from arm to arm. She threw a smile at him that seemed to be an attempt at being encouraging, but just came across as nervous as he felt. Her companion glanced over at Keith with a smirk, leaning in towards Nylan and muttering:

            “Mit moleer ylchallen sa mit vrepmyza, ylok vox?”

            Nylan smacked her cohort hard in the pauldron as he broke into peals of boyish laughter. Keith growled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He didn’t understand much of the sentence, but he was able to piece together the intention using the words he knew:

            “The prince slutted for the champion.”

 _Ylchallen_ was one of the first words Tora had so kindly taught Keith in her crash-course of filthy words. It was derived from the word _ylchall_ – a slut. _Ylchallen_ was the act of being a slut, a slang term used by younger Galra. It was meant to be a humiliating, shameful term, but was often used in a kinky setting with partners.

            Keith usually didn’t give a shit about being slut-shamed – even though he hadn’t slept with anyone until Shiro, he was prone to flirting and drunkenly making out with every hot boy he could get his hands on. He’d been called a lot worse things than slut, but there was something about it being on such a wide scale that badly hurt him. It was bullshit, and he tried to shrug it off, content with owning his sexuality, never regretting any sort of intimacy he shared with his boyfriend.

            But it was hard. Undoubtedly, each one of the thousands of people in the stadium and the countless more watching from home knew why he was there fighting for his honor. People he respected.

            Tora obviously didn’t care, but what about Maray? Or his nurse from the med bay? What about his dad?

            Keith shook the final thought from his head immediately. Thace obviously knew about the extent of Shiro and Keith’s relationship, and respected their choices as those of adults. He’d actually been the one to allow Allura to copy the ingredients of his military-mandatory oral contraceptive that Keith now usually took. Keith imagined that Thace would be more upset with the mission almost being blown by their reckless behavior than the fact that his adult son was in the process of initiating sex with his long-term partner. But that hadn’t even occurred to his dad; Thace had been much more concerned for his son than anything else.

            But there was still something humiliating in having his sex life exposed to the entire empire, and being shamed as a result. Perhaps that exposure was the brunt of the punishment.

            That didn’t mean the rest was going to be simple.

            Keith thought back to his conversation with Shiro after Thace had left the arboretum. They’d remained cuddled up in the maintenance shed, taking as much time as they dared savoring one another’s presence. During the ensuing discussion they’d had, Keith had asked Shiro for advice in consideration to his impending fight.

            “So you really think they’ll throw the match?” Keith glowered – he was relieved not to be subjected to the usual life-or-death rules, but despite all the pomp and circumstance about his honor, they wouldn’t even consider him a serious contender.

            “Like I said, don’t think they’ll go easy on you,” Shiro warned. “With the way Zarkon’s been playing his cards lately, there’s bound to be some deep psychological element to the fight. If he can’t kill you, he’ll aim to break your spirit.”

            Keith swung his sword out in a quick succession of katas, desperately needing something to release all his nervous energy. Without being able to hear the announcer, he had no idea when the match would actually start. It was killing him.

            As if in response to his thoughts, the doors to the stadium rolled open. Keith turned to the dark expanse beyond the maw of the exit, brow furrowing in confusion. Steeling himself, he strode forward, determined to put on a good show of bravery for the crowds.

            But he didn’t see them.

            A round dome of what appeared to be dark, opaque glass encapsulated the battleground itself, the ceiling having been extended by several stories at least. And for good reason: the majority of the battlefield was now occupied by a structure at least ten stories high. It was dilapidated in places – rebar and steel beams jutting out of the building at odd intervals. Keith stared around the dark and silent arena, unsure of how he was meant to proceed. Slowly he made his way around the circumference of the building, studying the layout to the best of his ability. There didn’t appear to be an entrance from the competitor’s side of the field. Whoever they were, they were most likely already inside the building.

            Suddenly, something caught the corner of his eye – Keith immediately assumed a fighting stance, facing the source of the movement. It was a little triangular drone, much like Rover; it floated benevolently in the air, a small red dot of light next to the circular lens in the center. Keith recognized it immediately: a camera. He’d seen dozens of them throughout his time at City Station – especially after the separatist attacks. Maray had later explained that they were often used for remote coverage.

            ‘ _So that’s how they’re seeing this_ ,’ Keith realized. It was undoubtedly projecting live feed of the battle up onto the screens above the dome of the battlefield.

            ‘ _Still_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _It would be a pretty clever idea to set one of those up to contain weapons or traps. I’ll have to keep an eye on it_.’

            Staring at the little drone dubiously, Keith stepped up to the building before him, pushing open the door with an elongated groan of unoiled metal. Keith winced, resolving to leave it open behind him as to not make further noise. The drone followed after him, immediately dimming its light and activating a camouflage function. Thankfully it appeared that the event orchestrators didn’t want him to have any unfair disadvantages, which was oddly benevolent for the same people who had been so unforgiving towards Shiro.

            The paladin pressed forward, recalling what little undercover training had been provided to him on the castle of lions. Allura and Coran had often encouraged them to play a variation of hide-and-seek where you were not allowed to stay in one place for more than five minutes at a time. At first he’d been reluctant to join in, thinking it another stupid form of team building, even though both Coran and the princess insisted it was a good way to improve their stealth. But the games had quickly turned fun and competitive, even though Pidge managed to be the last one to be found every time due to her tiny size.

            Thankfully, during these sessions Shiro had shown Keith several ways to clear a room, and he decided to take full advantage of these abilities. Quickly, he accessed what had been a semi-outdoors stairwell running up the side of the building. It would be dangerous to be caught on the stairs, but the paladin ascertained that a top-down approach would be preferable, especially if he left the doors open to hear movement in the stairwell. No one would be able to follow him down, unlike if he were to start from the bottom up. Keeping his footsteps as steady and silent as he could, Keith ascended the stairs, observing that every door along the way was shut tight.

            Despite the height of the building, the floors themselves were fairly small with only slight variations. Most of them were simply one large, square room – ideal for shooting good angles during a battle, Keith figured morbidly. Others were divided into sections separated by open archways, occupied with nothing but gravel and concrete floors. Keith frowned as he came across another twin level – at first he had figured that the name of the game was stealth, but providing such open spaces was contradictory to a game of cat and mouse that would best play out with various hiding places and obstacles.

            It was slow going, but Keith found himself down on the first story with nothing to show but a keen sense of foreboding and anxiety. There had to be some sort of gimmick – every one of Shiro’s battles had one, so why not Keith’s? Maybe the anticipation of dread was the psychological element that Shiro had warned him of? But that didn’t seem likely – it was far too benign for what Zarkon usually had in store.

            Keith frowned, wondering if his opponent had managed to sneak up the stairwell when he was inside the building clearing one of the rooms. He went to retrace his steps, halfway up the first flight of stairs when something seized his ankle.

            The paladin barely had time to react as his foot was violently yanked out from under him, his chest smashing roughly into the concrete stairs before him, knocking the wind from him with a painful choke. It tugged ferociously, hardly giving the paladin time to turn around to ascertain his situation before his leg was yanked into the jagged mouth of an air vent, the metal slicing at the fabric of his fatigues.

            Keith pulled back his leg from the vent, shredding more of his pants leg as he tugged against the herculean grip, exposing what appeared to be a green prehensile limb tapered to a fine point. He hacked at it as soon as it was made available, the severed part going limp and chlorophyll-green liquid splattering everywhere, staining the remains of his clothes. Keith pushed away the shreds of fabric, thankful to see that his prosthetic hadn’t suffered any damage, although the flesh around the port did ache.

            ‘ _I’m lucky it wasn’t my right leg,_ ’ he thought in relief. ‘ _I would’ve gotten sliced up pretty badly_.’

            Keith stood up straight, heading back into the first story, no longer wanting to remain on the stairs in fear of another attack. As he did, the building seemed to creak violently, the foundation sighing sadly –

            ‘ _No_ ,’ Keith thought, horror welling up in his gut. ‘ _That isn’t the foundation_.’

            The creaky sighs morphed into little sobs, more of the green prehensile limbs dripping through the cracks in the walls, out of the air ducts and ventilation. To Keith’s horror, the tips split, blossoming into awful violet flowers, chitinous beaks popping out of their center and clicking violently, filling the room with the sound of spilling beads.

            “Why did you hurt me?” the beaks queried in rounds, speaking in a plaintive little voice. It echoed around Keith, running up his spine as the vines crept forward, more flowers blossoming onto their length, each wailing and chattering on.

            “Won’t you come back to me?”

            “Won’t you, won’t you?”

            “We’ll be together again…”

            The prince raised his bayard, slashing again at the vines as they slowly filled the room, inching towards him. He managed to sever several of them, causing the flowers to scream out in turn, their sweet voices layered over one another in agony.

            “Please, please, please,” they begged and – all at once – surged forward. There was a terrible cracking noise, the concrete underfoot splitting and giving way to a massive form of vines twisted and gnarled around a solid core. It drew up to its full height, vaguely person-shaped, white flowers blossoming in place of eyes, tilting its head curiously.

            “Oh, oh, oh…” the little exhalations of surprise swarmed around Keith as he held his bayard aloft, awaiting his enemy’s first strikes. “Not him…”

            “Zarkon,” one of the flowers making up the creature’s eyes said, and the rest of the flora fell silent, one repeating the first, and then two, then three increasing in volume and rage until the room was filled with a cacophony of shrieks. Keith glanced around in confusion, disturbed by how still the plant life had fallen. And then they were moving towards him like a furious wave, shrieking in tandem.

            “ _ZARKON!_ ” something within the main tangle of vines howled, and Keith understood all too quickly.

            He broke back into the stairwell, the first floor exits having been completely swarmed with the living vines – he jumped for the railing, making to vault out of the arena, but the vines had seized him, far too quick for him to escape. The beaks bore into his flesh, biting and pecking holes into and through his armor and fatigues, causing Keith to cry out in pain.

            No, the goal of the game wasn’t to kill him, but was to mutilate him so badly that not even quintessence could fight back the damage – to render him unable to fight from then on.

            The beaks that weren’t tearing into him continued to clamor in rage: “You’ll pay, you’ll pay!” they promised. “Zarkon, you’ll pay for what you did!”

            “ _I’m not Zarkon_!” Keith argued, struggling to pull his hands together to raise his bayard over his head.

            “LIAR!” the flowers ejaculated in unison, the vines retreating for a split second, presumably to dig their beaks into Keith all at the same time. But the prince acted faster, using the split-second reprieve to heat the edge of his sword, slicing away the majority of the vines in a great arc.

            They cried out painfully, the core of the monster barreling into the stairwell, muffled groans emerging from within it. Keith didn’t bother to stick around to regard it, hauling his ass up the stairwell as quickly as possible. The vines pursued, as determined to catch him as ever.

            “You’ll pay for what you did!” they promised. “For Serro! For Orkah!”

            Keith almost tripped, a cold flood overtaking the blood in his veins.

            “…for Cebas,” one of the nearest flowers emitted quietly.

            “ _Cebas! Cebas!_ ” the flowers lamented.

            Keith ejected himself into the second story, already swinging his sword at the vines that were gathering behind him, weaving over the floor like a living carpet. Near his head, he realized that the drone following him had dropped its camouflage mode, now unable to pose a risk at revealing Keith now that the monster had found him.

            ‘ _No,_ ’ Keith reminded himself. ‘ _She’s not a monster_.’

            Two massive tangles of vines gripped either side of the doorway, using them to shove the main bulk of Fiola’s body into the room. Keith glanced over his shoulder at the open window. A one-story drop wasn’t that bad, but if he managed to break an arm or leg, he was screwed – the other paladin was too fast for even him as it was.

            “I’m not Zarkon!” Keith reiterated, much to Fiola’s malcontent. She lashed the massive cable arms like whips, snarling from within the protection of her vine cocoon.

            “ _Kill you_ —,” she slurred out, and screamed again when Keith winced and cut away the wave of vines she sent towards him. “ _Kill you_ — _Zarkon_!”

            ‘ _She’s not in her right mind_ ,’ Keith realized. ‘ _She really does think I’m Zarkon_.

            ‘ _This_ is _what he’d looked like to her, after all_ ,’ he recognized, staring down at the purple shade of his skin. ‘ _How she knew him_.’

            More vines burst through the floor, threatening to overtake Keith, who cut them away to the best of his ability. He could hack away at them all he wanted, but the vines seemed to regenerate from the severed limbs, more numerous than before.

            ‘ _Like a hydra_ ,’ Keith thought. He stared down at the singe marks that his sword had left on the vines and the numerous phalanges that had extended from them despite that. ‘ _Only searing the wound closed is no good. I need to get to her real body – the one inside that tangle of vines._ ’

            But if Keith allowed the vines to take him, they were unlikely to bring him to her real body. They were meant to mutilate him in place and nothing more – ever since she had mistaken Keith for Zarkon, she’d stopped trying to drag him towards her.

            ‘ _Who did she think I was?_ ’ Keith thought, feigning to his the left before bolting out to the side. He recalled her sorrowful words when she’d initially showed herself to him: “We can be together again”.

            ‘ _Cebas_ ,’ Keith realized. ‘ _She thought I was her twin._ ’

            An idea struck him as she flushed him out into another room.

            ‘ _Maybe if I can_ look _like her twin_ —,’ Keith began before shaking his head. ‘ _No good. Even if I_ did _know what he looked like, Zarkon would realize I’d found out somehow and eventually come across the diary_.’

            He spotted the drone hovering nearby, recording every moment of the event. Smiling, Keith lunged out for it, his bayard cleaving through the little machine and sending its components tumbling to the ground. Now effectively alone, he could utilize his Altean abilities to whatever extent he desired.

            He just had to figure out who to turn into. Who else did Fiola trust?

            ‘ _Orkah,_ ’ Keith reasoned, but quickly turned down the idea. If he transformed into Orkah – the skin Zarkon wore now – Fiola would probably attack him even harder than before. That had been the Zarkon who’d taken out her and her brother after all.

            Besides, Kith didn’t know the extent of his powers – from what Serro had described and what he’d seen of Allura’s, they were able to take on the appearance of the race, not become other people entirely. Whomever he turned into, Keith would have to look like them to begin with.

            The picture that had hung in the dining room flashed through Keith’s mind’s eye – the way he’d observed the similarities between himself and his mother, how Thace had been able to find him via the security footage of Sendak’s ship, immediately recognizing Keith as his mother’s child.

            Although a good deal of his energy had been drained from the chase, Keith focused on concentrating on the transformation. He’d managed to regain his human form a few times, as well as give himself a physique more similar to Shiro’s (on one arm at least), so taking on an Altean form shouldn’t have proved to be too difficult.

            Keith feared that the adrenaline would sap his ability to focus and thus transform, but it seemed to aid the process instead: his skin was overtaken by its human coloration, the catlike ears upon his head shrinking, sliding down the sides of his head, and stretching out to points. His hair lengthened, dark tresses spilling over his shoulders.

            As he concentrated, the vines began to seize him, but Keith refused to let himself be enveloped, fighting against them and drawing another painful wail from Fiola as he stepped back into the room she occupied.

            “I’m sorry!” he shouted, keeping his voice as light as possible. He had absolutely no idea how Serro sounded, but he hoped the falsetto was a close approximation. “I’m sorry, Fiola I don’t want to hurt you, just please stop attacking me!”

            The vines drew still almost immediately, the beaks of the monstrous flowers snapping shut all at once. A little breath hitched from within the awful clump of vines before him, barely audible through the vegetation.

            “Serro…?”

            “Yeah Fiola, I’m here,” Keith confirmed with a nod, stepping towards her confidently. He banished his bayard, holding his hands up benevolently. The vines around his feet parted in his wake as he approached, stretching his arms out towards her shielded form. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

            The figure before him trembled, and the thick weave of vines relaxed, drawing apart like curtains and revealing the paladin within.

            Keith’s stomach rolled over.

            Fiola was in the center of the mass of vines, which extended from her naked back in thick cables, looking skin-pricklingly like tumors. All her limbs had been severed at the joints, bound in dingy cloth. She was completely naked save for a massive leather posture collar that encapsulated her neck and shoulders. Smaller vines spilled from her head, falling over her eyes like dirty hair. There were awful scars around her mouth, wire coiling out around from it where she’d split the stitches keeping them shut.

            “Serro…” she repeated sweetly, the vines on her back pushing her towards Keith. Despite the state of her body, he enveloped her in an embrace, knowing that she likely hadn’t felt a kind touch in ten thousand years. The O’shetal rested her face against his shoulder, releasing a tremulous sigh.

            “Is it okay now?” Fiola asked slowly, pulling away from Keith and staring at him with milky green eyes. She was most likely nearly blind, hence part of her earlier confusion.

            “Yeah,” Keith confirmed, patting her head consolingly.

            “Where’s my brother?” the question was so tiny it stung Keith like a needle. He licked his lips in hesitation, not knowing if an honest answer would set Fiola off again.

            “Fiola,” Keith told her, willing to keep his voice steady. “I’m so sorry but Cebas is—.”

            The yellow paladin wailed, the vines around them writhing in mourning. Keith hushed her gently, smoothing his hand over the vines of her hair until she fell to little sobs in his arms.

            “Make me stop hurting,” Fiola sniffed. “Let me see my brother, please Serro…”

            Keith nodded resolutely, feeling far less guilty about what he was about to do now that he had the other paladin’s consent.

            “I’ll make it quick,” he promised, stepping back from her and extending his bayard to its full form. Fiola hung limply in the air, suspended only by the weight of her vines. Keith activated the hot edge of his bayard, and Fiola bowed her head, showing him the back of her neck.

            “Thank you,” she whispered.

            Keith wanted to say something, but just choked in response before he cleaved through her neck, her head tumbling neatly to the floor. The body released the liquid contained within it through the neck, the beaks of the flowers opening and drooling out as well as Fiola’s body wilted, becoming wrinkly and light in Keith’s arms. He hissed as the liquid lapped against him before gasping in surprise when it smoothed over him in kind warmth, healing the places that the beaks had bit and penetrated.

            ‘ _Unprecedented healers_ ,’ Keith recalled of the O’shetal, silently thanking Fiola for her final gift. He banished the transformation and lowered himself to his knees, picking up the yellow paladin’s head and closing the eyes. He settled it beside her torso, watching as the form of a lump emerged beneath the skin. Wincing, Keith reached in through the neck to extract the gray, impotent bulb. It clearly could not be replanted to save her life. He cradled it in his hand, banishing his bayard’s full form and clipping it into his armor.

            Anxiety rose in Keith as he descended the stairs, stepping carefully over the loose vines and liquid that still spilled over the building. Had there been any other cameras watching and listening? He quickly began to doubt it as he walked outside of the building, only to be met with further darkness and silence.

            Taking a deep breath, Keith silently apologized to Fiola before holding her bulb up like a trophy. At first, nothing happened, but suddenly a panel slid back from the part of the globe surrounding the battlefield, a beam of golden light falling onto Keith, who winced at the sudden change in brightness. Cheers poured in through the hole, becoming louder and louder as panel after panel retracted, falling away to reveal the congested stands of the arena. There was a pulse in the voices, picking up volume with every utterance.

            “ _Lotor! Lotor!_ ” the crowd chanted. Keith stood unmoving, the bulb still raised awkwardly in victory. He looked up to the massive screens above the battlefield, his image reflected back to him. He was panting, damaged armor rising and falling steadily, his fatigues sopping and hair sticking to him, drenched in plant water and sweat. He tore his eyes away, scanning the arena until he found the royal dais.

            Zarkon was sitting upon his throne, Haggar to his right and Sendak occupying the seat that Keith himself usually took. The red paladin couldn’t make out Zarkon’s face from there, but was cocky enough to feel that it was probably filled with frustration and rage. Good.

            He started forward, climbing out of the arena and into the stands, the bulb still clutched in his fist. The entirety of the coliseum was still chanting his name, excited Galra immediately rushing him with praise and exaltations as soon as he began to ascend the stands. He reached out to touch their hands, thoughtlessly accepting their touches and handshakes in his determined state. Soon a member of the royal guard had come down into the stands proper to aid him, shooing away the spectators and escorting him up to the dais.

            Through the corner of his eye, Keith realized that he was still being projected all over the massive screens. Before him, Zarkon was sitting stock-still, expression unreadable, and Sendak was leaning into one of his hands, smirking in a way that was just as impressed as it was amused. Haggar was staring at Keith with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard by his performance.

            Keith lowered himself to one knee, performing the Galra salute before addressing Zarkon.

            “Father,” Keith said, hearing his voice echo through the stadium. He noticed that a little drone had come close to record the conversation, his voice projected for all to hear. “I’ve brought you the bulb of the O’shetal.”

            He held out the indicated item, turning it over to Zarkon in the cup of his palm. The crowd rose into a torrent of whoops and cheers as Keith presented the trophy to the emperor. Zarkon reached forward, taking the bulb and nodding permissively at Keith, who rose to his feet in reply.

            “You’ve performed admirably today,” Zarkon conceded, and for once Keith could tell that he was being honest. “Haggar’s Grand Champion is undefeated in Coliseum. Consider your honor restored.”

            Again, the crowd voiced their assent, beginning to chant Keith’s birth name once more. He fought back the urge to blush, still trying his best to keep up the act of prince.

            “Father,” Keith repeated himself. “What more could I do to prove my loyalty to yourself and the empire?”

            Zarkon looked thoughtful, but before he could make a reply, there came a musing hum from his right.

            “Admiral?” Zarkon inquired, looking to his second in command. Sendak held the curl of his index finger to his lip, barely concealing a smirk. “Do you have a suggestion?”

            There was a dare in those words. Keith knew full well that the only reason Sendak was there was because Zarkon intended to keep him on a tight leash– Shiro had told him as much. However, Sendak clearly knew how to beat Zarkon at his own game, happily taking the bait. Zarkon’s challenge proceeded to backfire spectacularly.

            “I believe that the prince should accept a public and official coronation,” Sendak responded smoothly.

            Keith couldn’t even hear his thoughts over the resounding din – the crowd was going absolutely _ballistic,_ shrieking themselves hoarse with their approval. Now both Zarkon and Haggar were staring at Sendak in disbelief, the admiral leaning back in his chair casually, propping his head up with one fist and gesturing towards Keith with an open palm.

            His intention was clear: “Your move”.

            Zarkon’s eyes fell on Keith, who was simply gaping at him in disbelief. He didn’t even want to see what he looked like on the huge screen – probably close to passing out. On one hand, he figured that – in addition to the assassination— his legitimization had been part of the end-goal all along. But on the other, he never thought that Zarkon would move to make his bastard his official heir – let him be the prince and his progeny, yes – but he was too cocky with his ability to be essentially immortal to even entertain the notion of naming an heir, especially if it made things that much easier for him to be usurped as Emperor.

            Suddenly, the Emperor stood and the crowd fell to silence, as if a massive roar had been instantly cut off. He stepped up to Keith before placing a hand on his shoulder, eyes clearly narrowed into slits. And with that, he turned Keith by the shoulder, so that he was facing out towards the center of the arena – looking upon the colorful mass of people waiting for the emperor’s decision with bated breath. Zarkon’s hand became dangerously tight around Keith’s shoulder, the intensity of his grip able to be felt even though the damaged armor.

            ‘ _You’re trapped, aren’t you?_ ’ Keith realized. ‘ _Just like when I wanted to save Shiro. You have no other choice, you’re completely trapped. Things are already out of your favor enough that you’ll do just about anything to have the people’s obedience back, won’t you?_ ’

            It was simultaneously shocking and unsurprising then when Zarkon proceeded to announce: “Prince Lotor will be coronated as my heir.”

            Keith marinated in the contradictory feelings swimming around in his chest, meeting Zarkon’s glare with a flabbergasted look. Remembering to keep up appearances, the paladin lowered himself to one knee, pressing his fist to his heart.

            “I graciously accept your offer, Father,” he replied. “Vrepit sa!”

            “VREPIT SA!” the crowd screamed back in reply. “PRINCE LOTOR! DEL MOLEER!”

            Del moleer: _our_ prince.

            Keith swayed back up onto his feet, waving at the crowd. It still wasn’t processing.

            He turned his head to Sendak, sharing a purposeful look with the Admiral. Sendak merely continued to smirk, as completely unreadable as always.

            ‘ _What are_ you _playing at, though?_ ’ he thought. ‘ _If I wasn’t in the way as Zarkon’s heir, you’d have a clear shot at the throne once he died, so why make it more difficult for yourself?’_

            Maybe he intended to strike at the coronation – it was the ideal time to rid of Zarkon after all. Public opinion of the prince would be at its peak then, and Keith figured mob mentality may make it easier to bring down the Emperor.

            ‘ _But if Zarkon is assassinated when I’m coronated, that means that I’ll be_ —,” Keith silenced the thought, refusing to let himself linger on it. There were too many ‘if’ situations.

            However…

            Keith looked back out at the sea of people cheering his name. They were all victims of the empire, each one of them fit snug below Zarkon’s thumb. Victims of war, of oppression – for every bastard Galra, there was an innocent. They were people. They had families. Keith realized that now, and could no longer go on blindly hating the entire race.

            ‘ _Whatever happens_ ,’ he thought, making a solemn vow. ‘ _I will be good to you all_.’  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really enjoyable chapter for me to write! For the match I tried to go the horror route rather than a traditional pvp battle -- how did that hold up? Fiola is such a fun and interesting character to write and I'm sad to see her go, but I'm glad Keith could help her find peace in the end.
> 
> Also what the heck is Sendak up to? That's some pretty sketchy behavior if I do say so myself...
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your comments and questions! We'd love to answer any inquiries you have either in the comments here or over on our blog voltronrising.tumblr.com -- in addition, I'm chocolatemoosey.tumblr.com and Ches is cheshirecity.tumblr.com if you'd like to talk to us there ^^ It seems like we're going to go ahead with the podfic idea; I just need to save up for a decent microphone. 
> 
> Have a wonderful week! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, we'll see you next Friday!
> 
> ~Moosey


	20. Justice

Keith was in the dining room when Thace found him, sitting idly at the table and picking at his morning meal. He brightened as his father entered, setting aside his fork with ears perked.

            “Morning, kit,” he greeted, setting aside the books and tablets he had brought with him and taking an adjacent seat.

            “Hey,” Keith smiled, taking the napkin from his lap and setting it aside. Using his arm to push away his plates he made room for Thace’s things, pulling them towards himself with interest. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, leafing through one of the books. “It’s been a bit.”

            “Two okak,” Thace agreed, looking apologetic. “I came as soon as I could, but everything got so busy with this business of the coronation. I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you until now.”

            “No,” Keith shrugged, “It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway – _I’ve_ been too busy. You wouldn’t believe the amount of meetings I’m suddenly being sent to. It’s been… overwhelming, frankly,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose. “Enlightening, too. If it were up to me things would run a lot differently but –.” He cut off, Thace staring at him intently. “Oh,” he murmured, looking to his folded hands. “I guess… I guess things _will_ be up to me.”

            “Yes,” Thace pressed seriously. “Which makes things rather tricky. Our plan all along has been to take out Zarkon and, that accomplished, to escape back to the Castle of Lions. Allura and I realized that you would be put in the position where you might have some authority, but we had always assumed that you would serve more as an ambassador in a period of a transition of power for Gal. This… this is something else entirely.”

            “So,” Keith frowned, beginning to toy with the considerable length of his wide sleeves. “What do we do now? I mean… my coronation is set for tomorrow and before the day is out we’ll be docking at Gal. I think I can safely say that everyone’s on the same page that the ceremony will make the perfect cover for what we have planned.”

            “Indeed,” Thace nodded. “I’ve received word that the Vesh are making plans to proceed the moment you are crowned and your right as heir is secured.”

            “That’s wild,” Keith shook his head. “It won’t even matter, will it? Whether I’m biologically related to him or not? Once I’m coronated there’s no going back, is there?”

            “If that were to be the case then there is a means of appeals,” Thace answered thoughtfully. “It would be put to the people and counted by country. Each continent then would receive their constituent votes and declare a for or against vote for the appeal. The majority vote would then win and the case would close accordingly.”

            “How many continents are there?” Keith asked curiously.

            “Eight. Well, seven, as far as what counts,” Thace reconsidered. “As such there are an odd number of votes, ensuring that there’s never a tie.”

            “So what about the eighth continent?” Keith frowned, “Why don’t they get a say?”

            “Well,” Thace winced, “The eighth continent is literally called ‘d’Vesh’. It’s a landmass that constitutes the southern pole of Gal, a frozen wasteland with near-constant wind and snowstorms. It’s where exiled Galra are sent,” he described, taking the book from Keith and flipping to the back where several maps of Gal were detailed.

            “Sometimes our courts rule that a case isn’t warranting of death and so they order the defendant’s relocation, which isn’t far from a death sentence itself. Because of the storms it’s impossible to reach by air, meaning the only way there is by sea. Not only is the route full of choppy water and hidden ice, but megalithic creatures, as well. Some ships don’t even make it to their destination.”

            “Wait,” Keith interjected excitedly. “Are you telling me that you have _sea monsters_?”

            “Yes,” Thace frowned seriously. “It’s terrible.”

            “No, that’s awesome,” Keith grinned. “Fucking _confirmed_.”

            Thace stared at him, perplexed and unaware of his son’s acute love of cryptids. Keith chuckled at his bafflement, settling down.

            “But really,” he intoned, growing serious, “That situation sounds horrible. That’s not something I would want to happen to my people.”

            “Neither do the Vesh,” Thace pointed out. “Who, not by coincidence, are in part members of those sent to the continent.”

            “How did they escape?” Keith marveled. “It sounds hard enough to get _to_ nonetheless get _off_.”

            “There’s a straight between d’Vesh and another continent, Asaazam,” Thace explained. “Some take their chances and try to build their own vessels or even swim across, but often times they perish. The best chance one could hope for is to catch the attentions of a trade ship and gain passage, although, as you might imagine, they do not come by often.”

            “So the Vesh was started by exiles?” Keith surmised.

            “As I said, in part,” Thace continued. “You must understand that it’s a matter of the current political climate as well. After Zarkon first came to power there was a huge increase in population – a kit boom, if you will. It came at the end of a period of intergalactic war and, for good or ill, Zarkon’s rise to power meant stability and thereby safety in which to raise a family. As you can imagine, this behavior was also thoroughly encouraged by the government and it became a bit of a social movement.”

            “Zarkon needed future soldiers,” Keith realized with disgust.

            “Absolutely,” Thace nodded. “With full intention to expand his Empire he knew he needed the manpower to back him up. After all, there would be a lot of battles to be won if he were to have his way – which he did. This, then, led to a steady decrease in family size as more and more Galra found their families picked over by military loses. But then the Empire stabilized for a while – we weren’t taking in many more planets, not at the rate we started – and we all became a bit complacent. But about six hundred seasons ago things picked up again; Zarkon began to colonize with greater fervor and there was another kit boom.”

            “Didn’t they learn the first time?” Keith frowned.

            “You have to remember,” Thace shook his head, “These events were separated by nearly _twenty_ thousand seasons – the average lifespan of a Galra is no more than two. No one was around to remember how things had gone the first time, and if they did, they no longer took it seriously.

            “So now we have a climate wherein there are a lot of youth and middle adult Galra,” Thace continued. “People like Maray, and even Sendak: they were both a product of the second kit boom. And their generations are suffering from Zarkon’s decisions more than their predecessors, and they’re unhappy. Zarkon’s public approval ratings are now at an all-time low, and that’s why we’re seeing him grapple for control so much.”

            “If that’s the case, then why doesn’t Gal just go through the appeals process?” Keith queried, inclining on an elbow. “Unless Zarkon won’t allow it?”

            “It’s not so much that he won’t allow it,” Thace hummed, “It’s that there is no recourse for impeaching an emperor or empress with a blood claim on the throne. There used to be rulers before things were this way, and they weren’t descendants of one another, but no one really remembers how that government worked. _Conveniently_ ,” he stressed with annoyance, “All documentation of those times were purged.”

            “Zarkon didn’t want to be usurped before he began,” Keith sighed. “Typical. So then the appeals process would only apply to a non-blood related individual?”

            “Yes,” Thace confirmed, “So as you can imagine it’s never happened for the throne. Lesser ruling parties, yes, but never for the control of the Empire. Such an event would be unprecedented.”

            “So that’s why I’ve become so popular,” Keith deduced, looking back down at the map. “Because I’m so different from Zarkon I represent a fresh start to them. And because the masses are so largely youthful and discontent, those from d’Vesh have a better platform on which to voice their injustices.”

            “Thus leading to the creation of the Vesh, yes,” Thace smiled. “As you can see, things have not lined up well at all for Zarkon. With your coronation eminent, he must be panicking. I suspect, then, that there will be an extremely high number of guards at tomorrow’s ceremony. The Royal Guard will have eyes everywhere. It… it will be pandemonium when the fighting starts, to say the least.”

            “But with Zarkon dead,” Keith began slowly, “It would be my duty to lead the people. In our original plan we bailed after the assassination – can we really afford to do that now?”

            “We won’t have a choice,” Thace returned grimly. “As there are Vesh there are also loyalists to Zarkon’s regime, and they’ll be hunting for you at once. I can already see how this would pan out: Zarkon must know that there will be an attempt on his life tomorrow and as such will be seeking to end yours. With the attack, all he needs is enough evidence to state that it was a coup of your creation and your death would be seen as justified – especially if he survived. This would still tarnish his public opinion, but as far as he’s concerned the immediate threat would be resolved. No, we will still have to return to the Castle of Lions and wait for things to die down here on City Station before we attempt a return journey.”

            “It feels selfish,” Keith grimaced, “Running like that?”

            _‘So be it,’_ Thace thought to himself. _‘I will be selfish to the end of time if it means keeping you safe.’_

“It’s not running,” he consoled his son, “But preservation. It may sound unlikely, but I truly believe it’s what the people would want of you. If you represent their hope for a new future then they would want to see that future protected. Your death would mean a lot to more than just Shiro, the team, and I.”

            “I don’t get why,” Keith muttered, Altean markings glowing. “I’m still just some punk kid.”

            “A ‘punk kid’,” Thace phrased awkwardly, “With a lot of power. A slew of planets at their feet. Regardless of what happens with the government of Gal for the interim at least you must bear their considerations in mind.”

            Keith nodded quietly, digging a nail against the gold brocade of his jacket dress. Thace observed him kindly, leaning over and touching a hand to the paladin’s arm. “Sorry,” Keith smiled weakly. “It’s just kind of a lot.”

            “You needn’t apologize,” Thace assured him. “It _is_ a lot. For anyone. Especially for you, who hasn’t had the lifetime that you were meant to to prepare for such a responsibility. All of this happened so suddenly – I think we’re all kind of reeling.”

            “It was Sendak’s ploy,” Keith toyed at a lip. “What do you think he’s getting at?”

            “I couldn’t even begin to fathom,” Thace admitted.

            _‘Although I doubt it could be anything good,’_ he added privately.

            “The command – the _admiral –_ is hardly what you’d call Vesh and yet he seems to take great pleasure in undermining Zarkon. Even when acting as one of his most loyal servants, Sendak has always had a means of looking out for himself, first. If I didn’t know better I would say that his display at the arena was just for his own amusement.”

            “And because you _do_ know him better?” Keith pressed.

            “I still don’t know,” Thace shook his head. “He’s one that plays things close to the vest. But he’s a true gal’stara – venomous. I’d keep a close eye on him.”

            “Yeah,” Keith returned sourly, “I fully intend to.”

            “What…” Thace began, looking away. “What happened in the arena? You disabled that camera for a reason, right? What happened between then and when you emerged?”

            “Did you recognize her?” Keith asked instead, voice small.

            Thace sighed, eyes closing. _‘It’s exactly as I thought, then,’_ he mourned, _‘Poor Fiola – she never deserved this. None of us ever deserved this. I thought it must have been a trick, some sort of illusion like in Shiro’s fights. But no, I think it was really her. To think of what they’ve made of her, that they’ve kept her alive in such a tortured state for all these seasons? Serro would never have had it.’_

“I recognized her,” he said aloud at length, opening his eyes slowly. His gaze remained downcast, lips set in a hard line. “And I’m guessing you did, too? From Serro’s diary?”

            “Yeah,” Keith breathed, reaching out and taking Thace’s hand in his for support. “She was looking for her brother.”

            “Cebas,” Thace supplied knowingly.

            “I knew I couldn’t let Zarkon see that I knew who she was, so I destroyed that drone,” Keith explained. “I tried calling out to her but…”

            “She thought she recognized you,” Thace recalled, side eyeing Keith.

            “It’s alright,” his son sighed. “As much as I don’t like it, it makes sense. If things are the way we suspect then I suppose the similarity was inevitable. She remembered him Galra,” he explained, “But also perhaps as Orkah. So I used my Altean abilities as best I could – I tried to look like mom. That calmed her down. She was,” he bit a lip to keep back the tide of emotion, “She was hurting so bad. She was sad and alone and scared. She asked me to do it.”

            Thace looked away, heart breaking. _‘As much as I miss her, a part of me is so thankful that Serro isn’t around to see what has become of those she loved. She suffered enough. And yet,’_ he reconsidered, taking in the precious sight that was their son, _‘I wish she could meet him now, to be here to tell him how proud she is of him, how much she loves him. She deserved to have that happiness, that sense of joy and completion as a parent. I just wish I could have shared what time she had left with her.’_

“You did the merciful thing,” he consoled the paladin. “You freed her.”

            Keith nodded his understanding, staring up at the ceiling and willing the threat of tears away. “She healed me as she died,” he explained, gesturing to his bruise-free visage.

            “I wondered about that,” Thace murmured, rubbing a thumb over the top of Keith’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze, pulling away. “Well,” he sighed, nodding to the open book between them. “I brought these here on the pretense of giving you a lesson but it seems that rouse turned into a reality, didn’t it?”

            “It’s appreciated,” Keith offered a small laugh. “I suppose it’s all things I’ll need to know now.”

            “It is,” Thace agreed. “And that’s just the beginning. This coronation will be a huge to-do. I think Maray has completely forgone sleeping in order to arrange it all.”

            “Poor thing,” Keith shook his head in sympathy. “Although, I think the lack of sleep thing is a usual for them.”

            “Unsettlingly so.”

            “All the hype has been good for me, though,” Keith continued, pointing above them to the remainder of the mansion. “Zarkon’s been gone more than he ever has prior, so I have a little more freedom in what I do around here.”

            “It seems I came at a good time, then,” Thace breathed in relief.

            “Yeah, we should be uninterrupted for a long while given the schedules he’s been taking up,” Keith confirmed.

            “Then this might be the perfect time to call up Lance and the others,” Thace suggested, extracting his hailer and setting it up between the two of them. “I’ve had recent correspondence,” he explained, pulling up a projected screen as he made to send the transmission, “And it seems that Team Voltron’s parlay with both Stell and O’shetal were successes. We’re in good standing for what’s to come.”

            Keith smiled, peering anxiously towards the display as it warped, the call picked up on the other end, an image forming in the center. Lance sat on one of the couches in the meeting room, sipping at a Space Capri Sun, which he promptly spat up in surprise upon seeing his teammate.

            “ _KEITH?”_ he exclaimed, drawing the attention of the others off screen.

            “KEITH!?” came Pidge’s excited cry, and the paladin laughed as the audible sound of both her and Hunk racing to the hailer carried on. “Out of my way, nerds!” Pidge insisted, all but grappling Lance for a view of her best friend. Hunk crowded in beside her.

            “Hey guys,” Keith gave a little wave.

            “Wow,” Hunk blinked, seeming to speak for the group. They quieted a moment before Pidge threw in her two cents.

            “Well you look damn fine.”

            Thace quirked a smile, observing the embarrassed reactions of his son. Clothed in a dress of burgundy and gold, an ornate clip of plummy pearls and clear diamonds settled in his hair, he certainly appeared a far cry from the rough talking paladin who picked fights for fun.

            “That _cannot_ be Keith,” Lance objected around the chatter of the others.

            “Why not?” Pidge laughed.

            “Too pretty.”

            “So you think Keith is pretty?” she teased.

            “NO! THAT’S NOT—!” Lance protested loudly, waving his arms.

            “But Jesus how are you?” Pidge wheeled back to the screen, looking insistent.

            “Yeah man, how have you been?” Hunk adjoined.

            “…We’ve all been really worried about you,” Lance finished, still flushed.

            “I’m doing alright,” Keith laughed softly, and Thace could just barely detect the fine misting of tears growing along the other’s lash line.

            _‘He’s missed them so much,’_ he realized. _‘While I’ve gotten the chance to speak with them and Shiro on a regular basis, Keith has been more or less alone. Even if he only just realized the extent of his isolation recently it must have been hard for him. Especially given that we are all family to him.’_ The word warmed in his chest.

            Pidge chattered on as Keith listened, filling him in on information that Thace had glossed over. “I even got to see Millie and Inga again,” she beamed, causing both her companions to groan. “It was amazing.”

            “If by ‘amazing’ you mean incredibly embarrassing,” Lance huffed.

            “For _you_ maybe,” Pidge grinned wolfishly. “Because for me it _was_ amazing.”

            “I’m glad to hear you were reunited,” Keith smiled, reclining his head upon an upturned palm. “They were really nice girls.”

            “Pidge is gonna marry them one day,” Hunk shook his head.

            “Yup,” the green paladin returned, completely unshaken.

            “So _anyway_ ,” Lance pressed, the subject appearing to be one he’d rather avoid. “Like we said, the negotiations went swimmingly. We’ve been working with the Vesh remotely and together we’ve devised a plan.”

            “I’m listening,” Keith urged, Thace leaning in beside him.

            “The plan is to split into two teams,” Lance explained. “We’ll try and go in one Lion to start with and then partition off after we’ve infiltrated the City Station. We’ll be utilizing a pincer attack, basically, trying to divide and conquer the enemy territory.”

            “So then what?” Thace prodded, and Lance pulled a face.

            “That I’m not so certain of,” he admitted woefully. “I can’t even guarantee the success of what we _do_ have planned – if anything, we’ll probably just be adding to the chaos. Even at that, though, it might be enough to divert attention long enough so you guys can get your opening.”

            “Even that will be a challenge,” Thace frowned, scrubbing a hand over his lips. “Zarkon’s forces will still be able to track down where Keith is at due to his…” he froze, eyes widening. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, growing excited.

            “What?” the prince frowned, looking himself over self-consciously. “Due to my what?”

            “Your tracker,” Thace explained, gesturing to his arm.

            “My…” Keith trailed off in echo, as the memory came back to him. “That’s right,” he wondered, touching at his sleeve, “It was right before the reconditioning. I barely remember it happening, but they tagged me again. It was just like last time – same place and everything.”

            “Guys this is brilliant!” Pidge crowed, pushing closer to the screen. “You pop that sucker out of there and we’ve got ourselves a one way ticket to Easy Town.”

            “Pidge that sounds –.”

            “Hush, Lance,” she shooed him. “That tracker you had on Hydrus? Well I still have it! If one of you downloads the contents of the tracker onto your hailer and send it to me then I should be able to copy this new signature onto the old one.”

            “Sure,” Keith cocked his head. “But why? Isn’t the point to make it so they don’t know where I am?”

            “That’s _exactly_ the point,” Pidge stressed. “And what better way to hide you than to have you in two places at once? If the contents of the trackers both read the same then they should appear on Galra tech as the _same device_. Obviously you’re going to be followed, but we can better lead our enemies away from you by taking them in complete opposite directions.”

            “Pidge, that’s incredible!” Keith beamed, rubbing subconsciously at his arm. “After all, I can all but guarantee that both Zarkon and Haggar will give pursuit after how they acted at the theatre. Their best strategy would be to split up – as much as they like traveling together, they’d be left with no choice if they wanted to catch ‘me’ quickly.”

            “Which would mean that we could effectively lead Haggar to the Ossuary as we had strategized,” Thace added with relief.

            “So who’s taking on Zarkon?” Hunk fielded nervously.

            “I am,” Keith decided, head held high. Thace smiled, beholding him.

            _‘He looks every bit the crown prince he is destined to be,’_ he praised. _‘I feel as if I can see him growing as a person right before my eyes.’_

The team chorused with uncertainty, warding against Keith’s proclamation. Thace cut in, waving a hand. “Keith is fit for this task,” he spoke, drawing surprised looks from all of the paladins. “Politically, it would be the most meaningful as well; there would be no better means of securing the love of our people than to depose of our tyrant emperor. Besides that,” he continued with pride, “Keith has come to learn Zarkon more personally than any of you – he’ll be best suited to anticipating his actions and reactions. It will be a very dangerous fight,” he admitted, “But Keith has the best chance of any of you at coming out the victor.”

            “That’s fair,” Pidge sighed grumpily, “But like hell I’m letting him fight alone.”

            “What?” Lance blinked with a scowl, “I thought you agreed to be intel?”

            “I never agreed to that,” Pidge wrinkled her nose. “There’s no fucking way I’m sitting this one out, not after everything that’s gone down. Zarkon’s going to get a personal ass beating and you better bet it’s gonna be from me.”

            “Easy tiger,” Keith teased around a smile.

            Lance sighed, knowing the argument was lost. “Alright,” he adjusted, “Then Allura and Coran will remain on the ship and provide intel. They can let us know about the movements of the military, guards, and Druids, and help guide us to where our allies will be. And, hopefully,” he continued, frowning at Pidge, “They’ll be able to unlock any doors that we can’t pass through.”

            “If that’s a concern, then I have an easy solution,” Thace offered. “You mentioned splitting off into teams. If Keith wants to take on Zarkon, then Shiro and I will draw Haggar. The rest of you can divide yourselves into these two groups as you see fit: either way you’ll have at least one member of your party that can operate the doors.”

            “That’d work,” Lance hummed. “Alright, so how about this? Hunk, you take the old tracker and meet up with Shiro and Thace. Pidge, you and I will go rendezvous with Keith and he can give us his current tracker. You guys take out Haggar and we’ll take out Zarkon,” he concluded, voice wavering slightly.

            “So we’ll be the diversion,” Pidge surmised with a sure nod. “That way Keith can go undetected and get the jump on Zarkon.”

            “Precisely,” Lance smiled grimly. “So based on the maps that you sent me,” he continued, pausing to pull up a projected image for the both of them to see, splitting the screen, “We should establish two meeting points, one for each team. If the coronation is being held in the plaza of the First Ring,” he mused, peering over the blueprint, “Then Team Shiro should be stationed to the east while Team Keith takes the west. Shiro and Co., you will just progress along the perimeter of the ring towards the Ossuary and that will be that. Team Keith, our trajectory is a little less certain. Based on the position of the plaza to the Second Ring, we could take the sky bridge to the arena and drag the fight out through all the Rings.”

            “Too risky,” Keith countered, recoiling. “Besides, I’d rather not go near the Coliseum again if it can be avoided.”

            The expressions of the paladins wilted in understanding, all looking incredibly shamefaced. “Right,” Hunk spoke up sympathetically. “Then that looks like you’ll be heading for… the palace?”

            “Right back here, huh?” Keith muttered. “Seems you’re right – there’s the whole of the Entertainment District but the palace is the most equidistant from the plaza as the Ossuary is, and the farther we can get Zarkon and Haggar from each other, the better.”

            “In that case,” Hunk mused, peering at the map, “I think Team Shiro should hide behind the theatre, if that’s alright with you?” he ended in question, looking at Thace, who nodded.

            “Then Team Keith will wait behind the Druid temple,” Pidge decided.

            “Guess that settles that, then,” Lance affirmed, settling back on the couch.

            “It’d be good to remove that tracker soon,” Pidge suggested, chewing a lip. “Keith, you’ll have to keep it on you until the last minute – or at least, keep it where you want to appear to be.”

            “We’ll do it now,” Thace decided, looking to his son for confirmation, who gave it. “We have the luxury of secrecy now and I don’t know when we can afford it next. Besides,” he added with a chagrined look, “I’d rather Keith not remove this one as he did the last one.”

            Keith laughed awkwardly and Thace shook his head, remembering the scene that had played out when Zarkon had confronted his son. When Keith realized what had been done he had cut the tracker from his own body, paying little mind to any sort of need for surgical precision. Without the use of Quintessence the skin had scarred over, a divot remaining from the cut of his dagger. Altean medicine had helped, but Thace knew that the marks would remain all the same.

            “I can second that,” Pidge was saying, the others nodding worriedly.

            “Well, we’d better get to it while we still have the chance,” Thace rejoined. “I’ll call again when and if I have the chance.” The group clamored their assent and with a final goodbye from Keith, Thace ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the calm before the storm! No one loves Keith quite like Thace does <3 A nice, pensive chapter from Cheshirecity and Keith finally gets to reunite with his friends (somewhat). Looks like Lance has really taken an active role in things since Shiro and Keith have been gone. *Sniffles* Proud of my BOY. 
> 
> So after this, only six more chapters of Satellite to go! We have eighteen chapters of the next story in the series -- Constellation -- completed, so there won't be a lack of content as far as that goes~ we're looking forward to the finale of Satellite and getting to show you guys what we have planned next! Cheers! See you next Friday <3


	21. Zeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW ;D

Keith and his father spent the next several minutes pillaging the bathroom for any sort of medical supplies it could offer. Even Licorice joined in the search, guiltily producing a penknife hidden deep within a cabinet full of ancient toiletries. Keith accepted it from the space mouse, not bothering to question why it was hidden. Thace managed to unearth several antiseptic pads, setting down a roll of paper towels around the sink as he made to clean Keith’s upper arm. For the moment Keith had changed back into his medical pajamas as to not risk getting blood all over his nice clothing. Plus, if anyone was curious about the blood, he could always blame it on the fact he’d been hospitalized.

            “Are you ready?” Thace asked, pressing the sanitized penknife up against the white flesh of the scar where the tracker was located. Keith nodded sharply, gritting his teeth against the oncoming pain. He’d obviously felt much worse in the past, but there was something about anticipating the blow that made it even more difficult.

            Thace, however, worked with expert precision, managing to retrieve the tracker with as little damage as possible using a combination of the penknife and a pair of tweezers. It wasn’t as deep into the skin as either had feared. But still, Keith felt slightly bad that he’d been so violent when extracting the first one, now knowing that he needn’t have used such force. He figured it was a fair trade-off though, since his teammates had thoroughly punished him by going out of their way to call him extra for the next several weeks.

            “There,” Thace said, setting the tracker and dirtied tools down on a clean paper towel. He picked up the tiny canister of Quintessence that Keith had been prescribed for his leg, removing the paper towel staunching the blood that emerged from the incision and pouring the Quintessence over the wound. “Good as new.”

            “Thanks Dad,” Keith nodded, already heading to the closet to change back into his original outfit, dumping the pajamas in the laundry. Thace remained in the bathroom to finish cleaning up, politely returning his son’s gratitude.

            “So what else do I have planned for today?” Keith asked once he’d redressed, walking out of the closet and plopping down onto his bed.

            “The local cultures of the main cities on Gal,” his father explained, returning to the dining room in order to retrieve his books. Keith made a face.

            “Hooray,” he said without a lick of enthusiasm. Thace smiled at him, reaching over and gently ruffling Keith’s hair. His son laughed good naturedly, smoothing his hair back down into place.

            “Well,” Thace said, taking the tracker and stowing it in the side table cabinet below a handkerchief. “Since you don’t sound very keen on continuing our lesson, I thought I’d give you the rest of the day off.”

            Keith deflated in relief, thanking his father. Thace smiled, looking conspiratorially around the room. “I know it’s been awhile since you’ve had quality time together,” he mused. “So perhaps you’d like to pay Shiro a visit when he returns from work tonight?”

            The prince perked up immediately, ears pricking to attention, “Really? You…” the appendages drooped a little. “You think that’s a good idea after what happened?”

            “You two deserve to see one another,” Thace smiled benevolently, touching his son’s arm. “Since the tracker is hidden in here for now, you’ll be able to move around at your leisure – within reason. But I know you’ll be smart about it. With Zarkon out of the palace so often, you really have to take advantage of this chance.”

            “Yeah, but how do I get out?” Keith scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “I think the servants kind of have it out for me.”

            “There’s an emergency exit in the hallway outside of your room,” Thace explained. “The potted plant that hides the access panel is still there. Just activate that and you can come and go through the garden.”

            Keith quirked a brow, “That’s pretty convenient.”

            Thace smiled at some unknown past memory before clearing his throat, glancing away from his son, “Ah. Yes. Yes it is.”

            ‘ _Mom totally snuck out that way so you could fool around_ ,’ Keith thought to himself with a smirk.

            “I guess I’ll have to transform myself, too – I can’t exactly just wander around public as I am,” he gestured towards his face. “I’m kind of recognizable by this point. I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen a news program without my face plastered all over it since I’ve got here.”

            “If you keep your face covered, you shouldn’t have to perform too dramatic of a transformation,” Thace suggested. “Obviously, you shouldn’t turn into an Altean…”

            “It pretty easy for me to look like a human again,” Keith explained. “I’ll just do that. If someone tries to rip off my hood I’ll just sprout horns or something.”

            Thace laughed before blinking in realization. He beckoned his son into the closet, rifling through the racks of clothing until he came across a dark hooded shawl. It was very voluminous, enough so to obscure Keith’s current regalia, and the cowl large enough to hide a good portion of his face. His dad took a step back and shook his head, obscuring a little smile.

            “Well, you aren’t swimming in it as much as your mother used to,” he produced a little laugh. “But it’ll definitely work.”

            Keith pushed back the hood, smiling at his dad, “I really do look a lot like her, huh?”

            “Act like her, too,” Thace confirmed with a nod. “You certainly inherited her stubborn streak.”

            “That reminds me,” Keith smiled, walking back into the bedroom and retrieving one of the textbooks from his night stand. He opened it to the page marked with the diary, pointing out Serro’s doodle of herself stabbing Zarkon while Thace swooned in her arms. Keith’s father laughed, accepting the book and rifling through the pages.

            “I wish I would have taken a look at this before giving it to you,” he said, snorting at another drawing he found. “I’d really like to get a better look at all of these.”

            “No reason you can’t now – like you said, it’ll be awhile until Shiro’s off of work,” Keith shrugged, patting the bed beside him. Thace sat down, leaning over to share his newest discovery: it was another doodle of Serro riding on top of what looked like a poorly-drawn paper airplane, a string of garbled letters coming from her mouth. Keith laughed before glancing back to his father. “Will you stay here and me and tell me more about you and mom?”

            Thace brightened, nodding enthusiastically as he moved the textbook to sprawl over both his and his son’s laps, falling into a nostalgic anecdote.

* * *

            Keith ducked deeper under the cowl of his wrap, hoping that the visage of his human form wouldn’t draw too many stares. As it was, many of the Galra he passed didn’t even take the time to spare him a second glance, far too used to non-Galra and Galra of mixed heritage living on the City Station. He decided to walk to Shiro’s apartment, unsure if using the tram would be a good idea. Besides, it was surprisingly relaxing to be able to take a walk by himself without an entourage to keep tabs on him.

            Without the pressure, the Entertainment District was surprisingly pleasant. The festivities for the prince’s homecoming and subsequent coronation were still in full swing. Galra looking around his age passed by in groups, joking and laughing with each other as they hopped from one bar to the other. A couple stood in front of a jewelry stand, one half-Stellite Galra holding a jeweled earring up to his partner’s ear, much to her happy embarrassment. They brushed their noses together and kissed, and Keith felt a familiar ache to be able to experience that sort of normalcy with Shiro.

            He passed a collection of lighted pools, jets of water creating a brilliant show within. Keith distantly remembered the big pond at the Garrison out behind the old science building, idly chatting while he and Shiro skipped stones or fed ducks. It felt so much longer than it had actually been since the last time they’d been there. Keith couldn’t even remember when they’d even talked about, only recalling that he’d been anxious about passing some trivial math test.

            The prince snorted to himself – if only he’d known what awaited him in two short years.

            Not wanting to be too wasteful with his time, Keith took off for the Arena, still feeling odd to have just been in there the previous day. Even though surprisingly little had happened between his victory and that moment, time seemed to stretch out oddly around him. Although the actual stands and battlefield were closed off, the interior of the arena was still busy with food stalls and souvenir vendors. Keith came to an abrupt stop as he spotted a handsome poster of Shiro mid-battle. His hair was shaggy, pushed out of his eyes as he stared down his opponent, weapon poised to strike. If Keith had had any money in that moment, he would have bought it, if only to embarrass his boyfriend. The other paladins would have an absolute hoot putting it up in increasingly inappropriate locations around the Castle of Lions.

            ‘ _But I guess two can play at that, though_ ,’ he thought wryly, staring at another poster that depicted himself, battle-worn and holding Fiola’s bulb high for the arena to see.

            “Look, pattit,” a father was saying to a kit he bounced gently in his arms, gesturing towards the picture of Keith. “It’s our prince.”

            “Lotor!” the child chirped in excitement, waving their arms at Keith’s image happily. The red paladin couldn’t help but blush, readjusting his hood and advancing through the crowd. Everywhere he traveled, his name was on the people’s lips: ‘Lotor, mit moleer, our prince’. He felt strangely separated from the equation, feeling as if they couldn’t possibly be talking about the same person as him. And while he wanted the best for the families and innocents of the empire, he couldn’t profess to have done anything special to garner their affection. He hadn’t sacrificed a limb for _them_.

            But in a way he had, even if he hated to think about it in that way. Even though it wasn’t right, Shiro had become a symbol to them: a beacon of strength and a representation of non-Galra. And Keith had brought that person back when their emperor had wrenched him away. And for that, Keith figured, he’d become a symbol to them as well.

            Not wanting to dwell too much on that thought, Keith slipped out of the arena unnoticed, and followed the Sky Bridge into the Second Ring shopping mall it emptied out into. Thankfully Shiro’s apartment was nearby, located in the upscale military housing not far from where Thace had indicated his own place was. Thankfully, the military housing was easy to navigate, even with only an apartment number to go by. Keith followed the directory, heart suddenly slamming in his chest as he realized just how soon he’d be able to see Shiro. It felt just like when Keith would go over to Shiro’s place to pick him up for one of their not-dates when they were at the Garrison, only to find his friend in nothing but a towel, his eyeliner half-on.

            Keith certainly didn’t mind those occasions.

            He finally found the corresponding apartment, wrapping on the door hesitantly. Keith didn’t know exactly what he would do if it opened to reveal a complete stranger, especially if they managed to recognize him. He supposed he could just punch them out and be on his merry way – not many people were bound to believe someone if they came forward stating that they’d opened their front door only to be sucker-punched by the crown prince in disguise.

            But thankfully, it was Shiro’s voice that called out: “Sain myokticc!”

            Keith waited as patiently as he could for the door to open, emitting nothing but Shiro’s soaking wet head as he peeked through the crack. His expression quickly flickered from confusion, to surprise, and then joy as he recognized his boyfriend standing on his doorstep.

“ _Keith_ ,” he said happily, quickly opening the door and ushering Keith in. “What’re you doing here, won’t you get—?”

“Dad took the tracker out,” Keith explained and immediately shucked off the heavy wrap before turning to assess Shiro, who seemed to have the same idea when it came to surveying Keith’s outfit. Happily, history had decided to repeat itself and Shiro was standing before his boyfriend almost completely naked, nothing but a towel riding dangerously low on his hips. Keith couldn’t help but bite a lip as he drew his gaze upwards to Shiro’s abs, still lightly speckled with water.

            ‘ _Yeah, I’m so going to lick that off of you_ ,’ Keith decided that very second. But before he pounced, he decided to show off.

            “How’s it look?” he quipped as he let the transformation fade, spreading the circle skirt out to its full length, the dark burgundy bell sleeves fanning off of his arms.

            Shiro nodded, bright red. “ _Yeah_ ,” he said very enthusiastically. But his eyes weren’t on the dress – they were decidedly pointed at the stretch of skin between the hem of the skirt and where Keith’s black stockings terminated high on his thighs. Smirking, Keith reached out to Shiro, catching his chin under one finger and bringing his hungry gaze back to Keith’s face.

            “See something you like?” he asked cockily.

            Much to his pleasure, Shiro nodded again before the embarrassment melted from his face. Not even bothering to hold up the towel any longer, Shiro wrapped his arms around Keith, pressing his hand to the small of his back and drawing Keith close. He was shower-warm and soft to the touch, the heat immediately seeping into Keith’s skin. Shiro brushed their lips together, just barely as to be able to tell Keith:

            “You look so beautiful right now.”

            “Thank you,” Keith whispered in reply, and kissed Shiro.

            There was none of the urgency that had been there right after Keith had come out of his fugue – their kisses started slowly and softly as they used their abundance of time to take one another apart. Keith recalled the last time they’d been together, and slid his knee up the side of Shiro’s thigh. Shiro groaned and his hand snuck under Keith’s skirt, cupping the swell of his ass. Keith shifted his weight into Shiro’s hand, hitching up his other leg and allowing Shiro to pick him up, pressing him snugly against the wall as Shiro’s tongue laved against Keith’s lips.

            Keith opened his mouth with a moan, grasping Shiro behind the head and marveling at the amount of strength it took for Shiro to hold him up without breaking a sweat. Keith rocked his hips against Shiro’s hard stomach, sighing at the sweet friction that the action produced. Shiro groaned, feeling his boyfriend’s arousal and pulling away to press searing open-mouthed kisses along Keith’s pulse. Keith willingly tipped his head back, squirming a bit in Shiro’s grasp. His boyfriend let him down, pulling away and dropping the towel that had been held up between them. Keith’s hands, which had immediately gone to the buttons of his dress, faltered as he stared at Shiro’s thickened cock.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” he bit out, letting the sleeve of his dress slide off one shoulder as he fell to his knees before Shiro, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. Shiro started at the sudden touch, but made an approving noise low in his throat, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath through his nose.

            “Is this okay?” Keith asked, pumping Shiro in long, luxurious pulls.

            “ _Yes_ ,” Shiro breathed, gasping when Keith’s mouth immediately closed around the head of his cock. As he fluttered his tongue over the slit, Keith wondered how Shiro had gotten as hard as he was so quickly. Slowly, as he began to bob down the length, pressing the balls of his hands into Shiro’s hips, he realized that Shiro must have been masturbating in the shower. The thought alone was enough to make Keith part his legs, rubbing his fingers up against the already-damp crotch of his underwear, moaning when his finger circled his den through the fabric.

            “ _Keith_ ,” Shiro groaned, gently resting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders as Keith continued to service him, twisting his head with each lavish suck. His hips were already beginning to shake with the urge to resist bucking into Keith’s mouth, and the idea of getting face-fucked was too much. Keith palmed himself harder, drawing his fingertips over his clit and the length of his cock. But Shiro was pulling away, apparently too close to cumming.

            Keith made an indignant noise as Shiro removed himself from his boyfriend’s mouth, grumpily pouting up at him. The black paladin just laughed and reached down to help Keith up, pulling him back into his arms to share another round of hot kisses. Keith hastily kicked off his shoes as Shiro led him back towards his bed, tenderly dipping Keith down into the sheets to rest his head among the pillows. Keith sighed contentedly, feeling his hair halo around him as he shifted to get comfortable. Shiro climbed over him, setting to the task of undoing the buttons of his jacket dress, only to have his hands swatted away by Keith.

            “Leave it,” the red paladin smirked, arching up his hips into Shiro’s. The black paladin moaned, holding himself up by the arms to look down at Keith as he shucked off his underwear, spreading his legs invitingly. Shiro swore as Keith hitched up the skirt, running his hands over his soft, stockinged thighs, up and over the little dip where they bit into the skin. Shiro bent his head lower, following Keith’s hands with his lips, leaving deliciously cool spots on the stockings in his wake.

            “I never did get to finish,” he husked, his breath hot against the cleft of Keith’s den. His eyes flicked up to meet Keith’s from between his legs, half-lidded and predatory. Keith arched his hips in desire, shaking his head in agreement

            “No you didn’t,” he moaned.

            “Mind if I continue?” Shiro arched an eyebrow, and Keith could never even imagine denying such an incredibly sexy look.

            “ _God_ yes,” he choked out, sighing when Shiro’s mouth barely ghosted against his den’s lips. He mouthed at the soft outer labia, taking his time to tease with barely-there kisses and flicks of his tongue. Keith squirmed, completely over sensitized by the slight touches, gasping when Shiro finally split the seam of his vulva with the hot, wet sweep of his tongue, lapping from Keith’s den to his clit.

            “ _Keith_ ,” he groaned, pulling away slightly to press more kisses to the insides of Keith’s thighs. “God babe, you’re so wet…”

            “That’s because you made me this way, Takashi,” Keith whispered, sliding his hand down to his pussy and spreading the lips with the v of his fingers, allowing his boyfriend better access. Shiro closed his eyes and groaned at Keith’s words, leaning in to taste him again.

            Keith rocked his hips against Shiro’s mouth, the black paladin’s organic hand wrapped around his thigh, thumb smoothing arcs against it. His prosthetic was laced with Keith’s left hand, squeezing and relaxing in tempo with the stroke of his tongue. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Keith’s clit, suckling at it gently before descending to circle the opening of his den, gently easing his tongue inside.

            Keith bucked up against Shiro in rapture, gasp hitching in the back of his throat as Shiro softly fucked him with the tip of his tongue. His boyfriend pulled away for a moment, releasing Keith’s thigh and squeezing his hand. He gazed up at Keith from between his legs, mouth shining wetly.

            “Can I finger you?” he asked, and Keith threw back his head and groaned.

            “Fuck yes. _Please Takashi_ ,” he consented and the next moment he _felt_ Shiro groan around his clit, the reverberations making Keith’s hips jolt. Tongue laving against the sensitive bundle, Shiro worked his fingertip inside of Keith, moaning when it slid in with no resistance. Keith gasped happily as the digit touched him deeply, arching his hips up to accept another finger. Shiro immediately crooked them, stroking inside and out simultaneously. Keith rocked against him eagerly, the bend of Shiro’s fingers pressing on something delicious inside every time he pulled his hips back. Twinned with the feeling of Shiro’s tongue, Keith knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

            “ _Takashi…_ ” he bit out in warning, feeling his impending orgasm build. Shiro only increased his tempo in response and Keith’s hips stuttered, bucks growing irregular and rapid as he writhed against Shiro’s mouth.

            His release shook him from the core up, den squeezing around Shiro’s fingers as he milked the orgasm right out of him. Keith felt his dick dribble precum onto his thigh, sighing in content as Shiro took a moment to catch his breath before diving right back in.

            “Shiro…!” Keith exclaimed happily, already reeling from his first orgasm. Shiro’s tongue flicked up his sensitive clit, the hood fully exposing the nerves beneath to his touch, and Keith spread his legs farther, hips already twitching with an impending second orgasm. If Shiro pushed him just enough, there’d be a point where Keith couldn’t stop cumming, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle so much pleasure all at once.

            But Shiro continued to finger him, eating Keith out messily but _so_ good, the wet sound of his mouth and fingers positively vulgar in the air, and undeniably arousing. Keith groaned at the thought of being so thoroughly owned and pleasured by the attention that Shiro was giving him. His breath caught in his throat as Shiro extended his fingers to press against something deep within Keith with every thrust of his wrist, and Keith was cumming again, back bowed, den drawing Shiro’s fingers deep within it as it pulsed with pleasure, ripping around his touch.

            Keith collapsed back onto the bed, gently holding a hand out to ease Shiro off of him before he could try for a third. His chest heaved, den pulsing pleasantly in the aftermath of two consecutive orgasms.

            Shiro pulled himself up to lay beside Keith, allowing his boyfriend to catch his breath before he rolled over to kiss him, making a pleasured noise at tasting himself in Shiro’s mouth.

            “Fuck,” Keith gasped, finally pulling away from Shiro. “God _damn_ , Takashi…”

            Shiro smiled at him, almost shyly, using the back of his hand to wipe off his face, “Was it good?”

            Keith just laughed incredulously in response, reaching down to cup his vulva with one hand, rubbing the entirety of his sex with the lips, “I can still feel it.” He whispered, eyes hooded seductively. Shiro moaned and Keith’s mouth opened in a surprised laugh when he found the amount of slick beneath his fingers. Smirking, his took Shiro’s hand in his, leading it back to his pussy and drawing his fingers over his wet folds.

            “Look what you did to me,” he whispered into Shiro’s ear, feeling his boyfriend shiver against him. “I bet you could just slide right in.”

            Shiro swore under his breath, shaking his head vehemently.

            “We can’t, I don’t have any condoms,” he gave Keith a lamenting smile, surprised at the devious look his boyfriend shot him.

            “I want your cum in me, Takashi. Right…” Keith told Shiro, shifting his hips so that the black paladin’s fingertips circled his den. “ _Here_.”

            Shiro’s reaction was more than worth it; he shuttered, mouth wide open in pleasure before he whispered ‘ _fuck_ ’ under his breath. Keith laughed, rubbing his clit over Shiro’s fingers.

            “I’ll let you, you know,” Keith informed him, heart racing at how turned on the other paladin was getting. Shiro looked ready to crack under pressure, so Keith decided to let him off easy, informing him of the birth control shot he’d taken earlier that week. He decided to skip over the part where it’d been forced on him, not wanting to break the mood. Keith silently promised he’d talk to Shiro about it at a later date.

            “Are you sure it’s safe?” Shiro asked hesitantly, gently rubbing his palm over Keith’s hip.

            “They said it’d prevent conception for up to a season, however long that is,” Keith shrugged.

            “About six months,” Shiro translated.

            “Wanna try it?” quipped his boyfriend, rolling over to rub his hands over Shiro’s shoulders.

            “Yeah, as long as it’s safe,” Shiro nodded, holding Keith gently by the cheek and bringing him in for another brief kiss. “I want to be one with you.”

            Keith grinned, gently pressing at Shiro’s shoulders and rolling him down onto the bed. Keith straddled him, undoing the lower buttons of his dress. He parted the sides, giving Shiro a full view of his dick and den as he rose up on his knees, rubbing the tip of Shiro’s cock around the mouth of his pussy.

            Shiro bit his lip, shifting up onto his elbows and wrapping a gentle hand around Keith’s hip, stroking and admiring as his boyfriend teased him, barely dipping the head inside before lowering himself down, easing Shiro’s cock inside of him. Keith sighed at the satisfying stretch, the sensation of being completed almost too good to take. He stared down lovingly at Shiro, who was looking up at him adoringly in turn. Keith reached out to caress his cheek, drawing him up for a kiss as he began to roll his hips against Shiro’s in earnest.

            “I’m so full of you,” Keith sighed, brow knitting as he moved up and down the length of Shiro’s cock, moaning as it brushed up deep inside him. The other sleeve of his dress fell down to the side, completely exposing his clavicle.

            “Keith…” Shiro said sweetly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend and guiding their bodies together slowly. He pressed kiss after kiss to Keith’s chest, before pulling away to brush their lips together. Keith looked at Shiro, face flushed and eyes glazed over in pleasure. It was so different from the expressions of frustration, of fear, of misty distance that Keith had seen from him as of late.

            ‘ _I almost lost you_ ,’ Keith thought, emotion welling up in his breast as he gripped Shiro tighter, moving faster.

            “You’re not close enough,” he told his boyfriend, shaking his head in frustration. He pulled off of Shiro, laying down beside him and pulling the black paladin on top of him.

            “I’m not,” Shiro agreed, dropping his lips back to Keith’s throat, brushing his mouth and fingers over the place where the bruising had been, just like that day in the arboretum. Keith exposed his throat to Shiro fully, spreading his legs to accommodate his boyfriend’s hips and hooking his stockinged legs around them.

            Shiro reached between them, guiding the tip of his cock into Keith before dropping his hands to either side of his head and pushing in gently. Keith smiled, loving the sensation of Shiro’s weight upon him, reveling in the feel of being contained safely in his arms. He cupped Shiro’s face in his hands as he moved, slower and tenderer than the tempo Keith had picked up, the slide of the length of his cock easing them towards completion.

            Eventually Shiro lowered himself down onto his elbows, thrusts still gentle but growing desperate. He knit his brow, the pair of them struggling to keep their eyes open, not wanting to take them off of one another. He struck the same thing deep within Keith as he had before, responding graciously to Keith’s cries for more, thrusts slow but powerful as he touched the sweet spot again and again.

            Keith gave out first, already sensitive thanks to his two previous orgasms. He choked in air, barely able to produce a final exhalation of “ _Takashi!_ ” before his mouth parted in a silent scream as he came around Shiro’s cock, the ripples of his body milking him of his cum.

            They rode out their release in tandem, seizing as one and finally falling limp around each other, Shiro struggling to support himself as to not crush Keith. Reaching down, he gently pulled out, Keith groaning at the liquid rush between his legs as Shiro’s cum dribbled out of him. He drew Shiro over, directing his gaze towards his pussy where he rubbed the frothed up cum over his folds and clit, jolting in little after-effects of pleasure. Shiro shivered, cupping his hand over Keith’s and leaning down for a final kiss before he grabbed a handful of sheets and tucked his boyfriend against his chest.

            “Do you need anything else?” Shiro asked, petting Keith’s hair as the prince worked up a rumbling purr deep in his chest.

            “No,” Keith sighed, equal amounts sleepy and content. He cracked an eye open, expression mischievous. “Do _you_?”

            Shiro smiled and shook his head, beginning to scratch one of Keith’s ears, “No. I just want to be close to you.”

            Keith’s purrs picked up in pitch and he snuggled closer, “I’ll stay as long as I can. Get me up when you leave for work?”

            “Yeah,” Shiro chuckled, kissing Keith’s hair. “It’s _kind_ of a big day for you, huh?”

            Keith snorted before kissing Shiro’s chest, shifting to make himself even more comfortable.

            The chemical rush left the couple sleepy and sedate, Keith rapidly approaching unconsciousness.

            “Takashi,” he yawned, surging just a bit closer to Shiro. “I love you.”

            “愛してるよ, Keith,” Shiro replied. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY Shiro and Keith get to have a good amount of time to themselves <3 It's felt like forever since they last got to spend time with one another without the fear of being caught. This was an incredibly enjoyable chapter for me to write; I really love getting to write love scenes~ I hope it was well worth the wait.
> 
> Again, thank you so, so much to everyone for all of their lovely comments and support! There's just been this HUGE outpouring of love recently, and I wanted to let you guys know how much Ches and I appreciate it <3 I can't put into words how incredibly happy it makes us and how appreciative we are to have amazing readers such as yourselves! We've even gotten some fanart by Houda of Prince Keith, which is incredibly sweet and absolutely amazing:
> 
> http://just-someone-special.tumblr.com/post/159689604434/chocolatemoosey-chocolatemoosey
> 
> Again, thank you all so much! We'll see you next week!
> 
> ~Moosey


	22. Accession

Consciousness flowed into Keith like a pleasant wave, his senses slowly awakening in the peace of the early morning. He could hear the soft shuffling of Shiro moving about the apartment, taking care to be quiet lest he disturb Keith. The prince smiled against the pillow, reveling in the musty after scent of their sex. Despite having shucked off all but his stockings somewhere in the middle of the night, Keith felt warm and dopey, the blankets comfortably weighty against his chest. He made to roll to his back and realized that he couldn’t.

            “What?” he muttered sleepily, pawing through the thick comforter in order to better see. There, cradled against the dip of his side, was what appeared to be a rather strange looking cat. She regarded him lazily with all four eyes, large ears glittering with bioluminescent points. Completely unfazed by Keith’s presence she carefully stretched, resettling herself and resuming her hearty purring.

            “Whose cat is this?” Keith asked, drawing Shiro’s attention. His boyfriend straightened from his position against the counter where he leant over his bowl of breakfast, eyes wide. Abandoning it for a moment he returned to the bed, kneeling to the side to kiss Keith more fully awake, a hand trailing to scratch along Nai’s back.

            Keith smiled against the sweet kisses, pulling back to nuzzle the bridge of his nose against Shiro’s own scarred one. “You look nice,” he murmured, nodding to the smart uniform his boyfriend was sporting. It was maroon, same as usual, but more formal than Keith had previously seen. Fine braided cord trimmed the jacket, running along the high neck and down the front seam that was flanked by shined buttons, a rack of multicolored ribbons displayed proudly across his left breast. Keith could tell he had even taken the time to trim up the buzzed parts of his hair.

            Shiro flushed, looking down at himself uncertainly. “Thank you,” he accepted, “Although I don’t know if this look really suits me.”

            “Well _I_ like it,” Keith hummed, reaching out to toy with the short fringe of a pauldron. With the coronation only hours away it was hard not to disassociate Shiro’s rank with his own: the thought of Shiro fighting both for and under him was definitely erotic. Keith stole another kiss and propped himself up on an arm, settling against the mattress and enjoying the feel of the sheets over his mostly-bare skin. His dress lay crumpled in a corner of the room and for a moment he actually felt a little bad for not taking better care of it. The feeling wasn’t enough to make him want to get out of bed, though.

            “I thought you were going to wake me?” the prince queried.

            “I had every intention of doing so,” Shiro assured him, patting the blankets down and sitting on the edge of the bed. “You were just so out of it when I first got up; I thought I’d let you sleep just a little longer.”

            “I don’t even remember you trying to wake me up,” Keith admitted with a laugh.

            “You were really tired,” Shiro smiled. “Sleep well, though?” he asked, ruffling Nai’s fur and stroking the bridge of her nose.

            “Yeah,” Keith returned, attentions diverted. “But okay really whose cat is this?”

            “Oh, Nai?” Shiro paused uncertainly, “She’s… mine, I guess.”

            “Since when have you had a cat?” Keith blinked.

            “She’s a gal’stara, actually,” Shiro corrected, watching anxiously as Keith made hesitant movements to pet her. “Be careful, though, she’s pretty particular about who she likes.”

            Nai stared skeptically at Keith’s hovering hand, sniffing towards it a moment before butting her head affectionately against his fingers. “You were saying?” the prince grinned, scratching behind her layered ears.

            “Guess she likes you,” Shiro breathed in relief. “Which is a good thing, considering that gal’stara are venomous.”

            Keith balked, pulling a face. Suddenly his father’s comments had made sense. “Yikes,” he commented, touching Nai with considerably more care.

            “I mean, she’s only ever bitten me once,” Shiro shrugged with one shoulder, “But that was my fault because I startled her. There’s antivenom in the bathroom, thankfully, but it would still suck to have to use it. I guess I prepared myself last time I lived here.”

            “So wait,” Keith paused around a frown, “You’re saying that she’s been here on her own for months? How’d she make it? I mean, she _looks_ well fed.”

            Nai made an indignant sort of mew, looking to Keith with squinted eyes.

            “Can she understand me?” the prince blinked, looking rapidly between the gal’stara and his boyfriend.

            “Gal’stara are supposed to be highly intelligent,” Shiro mused. “The Galra say that they share a common ancestor with one another and seem to be pretty proud of that fact. As for how she’s been managing…” he trailed off as though recalling something. “She crawls through the vents to get into other apartments.”

            “Crafty,” Keith grinned.

            “Incredibly,” Shiro conceded with a wry look. “She’s fairly spoiled.”

            “When did you get her?” Keith questioned with interest. “ _Where_ did you get her?”

            “Ah…” Shiro paused, clearly uncertain how to proceed. He made a face, looking speculative. “I guess you could say,” he phrased awkwardly, “That I got her in the divorce?”

            Keith stared at him, caught completely off guard. “What?” he choked out.

            _‘That’s right,’_ he realized a moment later. _‘That time Shiro and I were talking, he said something about Sendak. That… that they were a couple of some sort. Or, at least that they used to fuck. I didn’t really want to think about it at the time and there wasn’t really the space to, either. Things have been so hectic.’_ He snuck a look at Shiro, who looked cowed and anxious.

            “Hey,” Keith called gently, reaching passed Nai to adopt his hand in his own.

            _‘How hard must all of this have been for him, then?’_ he wondered with sudden clarity. _‘To have to be around Sendak and… oh…’_ The events of the last few days stacked up before him uncomfortably. _‘Sendak killed him. He… he probably_ had _to kill him. Neither of them had a choice. But… if they were a thing…?’_ He looked uncertainly to Shiro, who was still intent on not meeting his gaze. _‘If they are… still… a thing?’_ he rephrased uncertainly.

            “Shiro?” he supplicated, and finally his boyfriend turned to look at him, pale with worry.

            “Keith,” he returned, voice strained. “Can we talk?”

            “Yeah,” the prince murmured, gently shifting Nai off of him and scooting up on the bed so that his back brushed against the wall. Shiro hesitated a moment, crawling onto the bed after him, mirroring his pose to his other side. He sighed heavily, reaching out with quiet fingers to loop his hand in Keith’s own.

            “I’m sorry,” Shiro began slowly. “I… I kind of just dropped it on you the other day. About… about Sendak. And we never got a chance to talk about it. But… we need to,” he nodded to himself, eyes ahead.

            Keith squeezed his hand reassuringly, waiting for him to continue. His heart was racing despite himself: he knew that Shiro wouldn’t suddenly leave him – he’d had more than enough assurances of the depth of his love and loyalty – yet there was still a part of him that he couldn’t erase that told him that abandonment was always waiting. He squashed down the irrational fear, observing his boyfriend quietly.

            They had been explicitly frank about their desires and expectations in the past: they wanted to stay together in a serious, committed relationship built on love, friendship, honesty, and trust. Everything they did they performed with sincerity and open communication and they had suffered very few problems in their relationship because of it. If they squabbled it was over petty things and resolved by the end of the day, the security they felt in their relationship and in each other only strengthening in turn.

            But part of that bond was the valuation of one another’s happiness and best interests. As heartbroken as they would be, both had surrendered to the other that if at any point their partner grew unhappy that they were free to leave. Keith twisted at the notion: if Shiro wasn’t where he wanted to be, he would let him go, even if it just about destroyed him to do so. He loved Shiro too deeply to disregard his needs and feelings.

            Shiro exhaled slowly, steadying himself. “Sendak and I…” he began hesitantly. “We became a couple almost immediately after I was named the Grand Champion. He admired my drive, ability, and willpower and I… I don’t know. He was weirdly kind to me. Maybe ‘kind’ isn’t the right word…” he sighed. “He respected me, and that was different than the reactions of the other Galra I was thrown in the company of, who only saw me as a prize, something to… to conquer and show off.”

            Keith bristled, instantly defensive. “What do you mean by that?”

            Shiro adopted a tired smile, shaking his head. “You know what the hype is around being named the Grand Champion,” he explained. “And the amount of honor and prestige that is supposed to come with it. Well due to my status I was taken to parties like the ones that were held after this week’s matches. There were Galra there who saw me as a stepping stone to further greatness: getting with me would elevate them in the eyes of society, and so I became a prize. Sendak… he wasn’t like that.”

            “That doesn’t sound like him,” Keith couldn’t help but reply.

            “Yes and no,” Shiro shook his head. “He’s… he’s a complete and utter bastard but he does have his own moral code and he adheres to it religiously. Part of that is attaining power by his own accomplishments, not by that of others. He may remove others from the equation – like he did with Admiral Tzen – but he refuses to piggyback off of others to further himself. And because of that he was able to see me differently from the higher ups and social elite, as more of a person than a trophy. And I reacted well to him because of that.”

            “So… you decided to date?” Keith prodded, curious despite his anxiety.

            “That’s complicated too,” Shiro frowned thoughtfully. “We… it was a very intense relationship, and not one that would be seen as romantic by human standards,” he paused, growing uncomfortable.

            “Could you explain it?” Keith asked gently. “I want to understand, or at least try to.”

            Shiro nodded thankfully, licking his lips as he tried to conjure up a fitting explanation. “The Galra… for starters, they are culturally accepting of polyamory. It’s a relatively common occurrence. Relationships are classified in two ways – the one being the type of love that humans traditionally view as romantic, and that which is… based on a mutual sort of hate.”

            “So like hate-fucking?” Keith offered.

            “Yeah,” Shiro agreed, “A lot like that. It’s this thing where you both are really compatible. There’s a lot of chemistry there. And maybe you’ve got things in common: interests, friends, skills, jobs? But there’s this part of them that just annoys the hell out of you, it’s something that you just can’t stand. But even as much as you detest this part of them you also appreciate them for being that complete and flawed person. It’s… it’s really accepting. It allows room to acknowledge all facets of a person’s being and to be accepting of that fact. That… that you can be a complete monster and still someone worth loving.”

            “You’re not a monster,” Keith murmured.

            “That’s…” Shiro closed his eyes. “I… thank you. And that’s where the difference comes in, right? Because your lusilbe – the traditional romantic partner – will take you at your whole and show you that you’re more than your faults. Your rathilbe…” he shook his head, fringe falling into his eyes, “They look at the whole of you, too: your good points, your bad, and those things that may be neither but that they don’t exactly like. But the rathilbe will accept all of it as equal and variable parts of you, will take that duality of character in stride and encourage both parts to flourish.”

            “So…” Keith looked to his blanketed knees. “That’s what Sendak was for you? To you? Someone that liked you for being a gladiator and also the person that I see?”

            Shiro said nothing, answer evident enough in his silence.

            “I didn’t remember any of it,” Shiro said at length. “Not until we came here together. Not until… until after I died,” he explained quietly.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I remembered everything,” Shiro expounded. “After I woke up in the med bay I regained all the things that I couldn’t remember about my time here in City Station. I don’t know why.”

            “Haggar,” Keith realized in surprise, drawing a confused look from his boyfriend. Keith waved a hand, making space to clarify. “When I made the transaction of my leg for your life, I made her promise the way in which she’d bring you back: that you’d have the same soul and thoughts and _memories_. And she delivered better than anticipated, I guess,” he exclaimed. “Because she brought you back exactly as you are, but in the full faculty of remembering what happened before.”

            “I guess she couldn’t replicate brain damage _and_ induce life,” Shiro quirked a brow. “But… I am thankful,” he acknowledged a moment later. “It’s… a lot to process, I admit. And I’m sure it is for you, too. But… I think it’s better to know, even if it’s complicated.”

            “How…” Keith began, running his thumb along the back of Shiro’s hand. “How do you feel now? Now that you know all of this?”

            “I…” Shiro swallowed, gaze growing distant once more. “I can’t lie to you, Keith,” he answered lowly. “I feel like I have two sets of feelings, two tracks of memories. It’s been disorienting but I’ve come to realize that they can coexist in me harmoniously: I can feel in conflicting ways.”

            “The way a rathilbe would accept you,” Keith murmured.

            Shiro froze, brow knitting. “Yeah,” he accepted softly, “I guess so. My point is, I… my feelings towards you haven’t changed. I really, really need and want you to know that. If I was unhappy or losing interest I would tell you, immediately,” he pressed, taking Keith’s hand in earnest and catching his eye, looking seriously to him. Keith smiled with a measure of relief, nodding his understanding.

            “I’m glad,” he admitted, drawing closer for the comfort of them both. “But?” he encouraged, “What else do you feel?”

            “Hurt,” Shiro returned honestly. “Sendak and I never properly broke up: he was sent away on mission and I… I kind of just left, to be honest. I wanted to come home, to find you.”

            Keith’s brows shot up in surprise, understanding the unspoken insinuation: Shiro had willingly chosen him over Sendak. He had to wonder how that made the admiral feel.

            “Because of that,” Shiro continued, “We never resolved things between us. The feelings I had came back to me just as strong as before. I… I feel the same towards him, but at the same time, I don’t. Because I’ve moved on with my life, independent of those feelings and they’re just now trying to catch up. If… if that makes any sense? I have my life with you now and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” he conveyed, truly smiling.

            “ _You’re_ everything I ever wanted,” he reiterated, and Keith’s heart bubbled with joy. “I’m at this point now where I know exactly what I want and need out of a relationship and I feel like I finally have that. But even at that my past feelings are still there and I need you to know that, too. Because it’s going to take some time for me to come to terms with them, to let them go.”

            “You know you don’t have to,” Keith spoke up seriously. “We’ve talked about this, if –.”

            “But you _do_ make me happy,” Shiro interjected swiftly, “I would never want to end this relationship with you.”

            “If… if Galra are polyamorous…” Keith fielded, watching his boyfriend’s reactions carefully, “And if it would mean your happiness then I would be fine with you two remaining a couple.”

            A range of emotions crossed Shiro’s face but then he sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you,” he began, “That’s extremely selfless and generous of you, and it’s the kind of freedom I want you to know that I extend to you, as well. But still, no, things are better off as they are now. My needs and desires are different than they used to be and I’ve changed as a person. You know that person and you accept that person: you see all of it and still love me. That’s the kind of person I want to be with.”

            “Still,” Keith looked down thoughtfully, “I could stand to be more accepting.”

            Shiro blinked in confusion, cocking his head. “How?” he nearly laughed. “How could you possibly be more accepting than you already are?”

            “I think…” Keith returned pensively. “I like what you said about duality: how it’s possible to be two things at once. And while I could never, _ever_ hate you, I think taking on traits of both a lusilbe and a rathilbe would be the best approach. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m dismissing the other parts of you or that I’m ashamed of them – ashamed of _you_. And I realize now that maybe that’s the vibe I insinuate by not addressing them, and I don’t want that – for me or for you. I want you to know that I love all of you, Takashi, and that I won’t ever look down on you for being your full, true self. I want you to feel safe to be all of you when you’re with me.

“And I think that’s something I need to work on, too. Because you deserve that and that’s a kind of love that is worth sharing. I want you to be able to feel safe to share those sides of you with me, without reservation, and I want to be able to do the same in turn with you. I never realized that this was missing from our relationship and now that I know – and know that it’s been an important thing for you – I want to try and implement it in our own. If that… if that’s okay with you?”

            Shiro turned to him with a melted look, leaning over and enveloping him deep within his arms. He turned his head towards Keith’s own, burying his nose in the slope of Keith’s shoulder and just holding him tightly.

            “That would mean the _world_ to me,” he admitted softly. “Now that it’s something I remember I understand that it’s also something that I really want. Need, even. Especially now that I accept the whole of myself. And… thank you,” he breathed, hugging tighter. “Thank you, Keith. I love you so much.”

            “愛してるよ, Takashi,” Keith sounded out awkwardly, awarding him a fond laugh. “I love you more than anything.”

            Shiro released him slowly, drawing their faces close. “Want to learn how to say it in Galran?” he murmured. Keith nodded curiously, repeating slowly after Shiro. “De luste da,” he recited warmly. “It’s the most serious expression of love between two people; a committed love,” Shiro defined. “It’s how I feel for you.”

            Keith flushed darkly, eyes softening as he stole a kiss. “De luste da, Takashi,” he repeated, loving the feel of the foreign words – his mother language – on his tongue. They kissed once more and fell away, Keith reclining to lean against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

            “I accept all of you,” he reiterated, pulling the blanket over their laps more securely. “And I accept the depth of your feelings for me, and that you can feel them while still loving Sendak.” Shiro flinched beneath him with what Keith could only assume to be panicked embarrassment. “It’s okay,” he soothed honestly, “I don’t mind.”

            “I broke it off with him,” Shiro informed him, pulling him closer to his chest. “I wanted to be clear with him; it was only fair.”

            “Was it awkward?”

            “Incredibly,” Shiro exhaled. “I think it hurt him, which was a weird thing to see, coming from him.”

            “Was it hard for you to see?” Keith asked, eyes flickering up to his boyfriend’s chin.

            Shiro nodded, holding Keith close. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Like I said, he’s a horrible bastard. Completely reprehensible. But… I’ve seen him in a different way, too, in addition to rather than in spite of those glaring flaws. And it was hard to hurt him like that.”

            “You’re a good person,” Keith praised, pressing a kiss to Shiro’s chest. “And thank you for being so honest with me. I realize how hard this conversation was for you.”

            “Extremely,” Shiro agreed at once. “And… thank you, Keith. You know how important honesty is to me – to both of us. It was a conversation that had to be had. And… I’m so happy and grateful that you’ve responded to it the way you have. I couldn’t ask for more.”

            Keith smiled, untangling their limbs just enough so he could cup Shiro’s cheek in the palm of his hand, caressing his face lovingly. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask for more,” he encouraged, “Because I will always be here to give it, to try, to work with you and love you. You’re my world, Takashi.”

            “And you’re mine,” Shiro assured him, their lips meeting in a swell of emotion. They stayed like that for several minutes, just holding one another and deepening their kisses, a raw expression of love that lacked the lust of their previous night’s endeavors. They broke away with satisfaction, Keith returning to his place against his boyfriend’s chest with a giggle.

            “What?” Shiro smiled, weaving his fingers through Keith’s hair.

            Keith just shook his head in disbelief, thoroughly amused. “‘I got her in the divorce’.”

* * *

            Keith turned to assess himself in the mirror, and for once he did not feel completely out of place in the fanciful clothes he currently donned. A white bodysuit trimmed in gold clung to his frame; the left leg was tailored to terminate just as his prosthetic began, the right leg displaying embroidery mirroring the pattern on the limb, which was highlighted in gold dust. Maray leaded over and clipped a cape to his right shoulder with a pair of matching pins shaped like golden leaves.

            Keith reached up to run a hand over the soft fabric of the cape, holding his chin up and inhaling deeply. His face was done up with sweeps of gold along the sides of his cheeks, eyeliner to match. Maray had straightened his hair and created a waterfall braid on the side opposite his bangs.

            He reflected on the black of the first flight suit he’d worn the day he arrived, the dark sweep of the cape and the vanity with which he’d assessed himself, believing that he truly was Prince Lotor. But there was nothing poisonous about him now; everything about him spoke of regality. He looked lighter, and felt it, too. He was no longer a brat prince, but the future emperor of Gal.

            ‘ _Holy shit,_ ’ Keith realized, the color draining from his face. ‘ _If everything goes to plan that really_ will _be the case.’_

            His thoughts were interrupted by Maray as they released a little, fond exclamation of “oh”, and brought Keith into their arms. Although he was surprised, Keith easily accepted the hug, especially after what Maray had done for him that morning.

            He was relieved that his return to the room had gone so smoothly, Maray passed out on his fainting couch when he returned. His attendant had awoken, fixed him with a cross look and announced:

            “I don’t know where you were or how you managed to sneak out, but you better thank your stars that I’ve been the only one who noticed you’d left.” They deflated slightly, “Although you could have always claimed you’d gotten cold feet and run away – I’d back up your story, undoubtedly.”

            Keith thanked them, only to have been rushed into the bathroom to begin the preparations for the day.

            Currently, Maray was pulling away from Keith and wiping at their eyes.

            “I’m so sorry I should have asked permission—,” they rambled. “It’s just that you look so—.”

            Keith smiled and set a comforting hand on their shoulder.

            “It’s okay,” he laughed. “I understand.”

            Sniffling, Maray nodded exuberantly, turning to the jewelry drawers and extracting what had to be the most blessedly simple circlet Keith had seen the entire time he’d been on City Station – a single golden wire, bent in the middle where a white teardrop pearl dangled. Maray set it gently upon Keith’s head, readjusting his hair around it until they were content

            Finally, they left the closet alongside Keith, heading back to the couch they’d been sleeping on and checking the time on their tablet. Maray faced Keith, alight with anticipation: “Well, it’s about that time.”

            “Okay,” Keith nodded as Maray approached the door. “Wait – hold on just a second, I need to grab something.”

            “Of course,” Maray allowed him to go, clearly in too good of a mood to be as prickly about punctuality as usual.

            Keith headed to his bedside drawer, opening it and extracting the tracker from within. He slipped it up the tight arm of his sleeve where it rested snugly against the pulse of his wrist. In order to cover his tracks in front of Maray, Keith picked up the handkerchief it had been stored in and turned around, showing it to Maray.

            “Just in case,” he grinned. Maray nodded in understanding.

            “That’s a wonderful idea, Your Majesty,” they told him, starting down the hall beside Keith. “You don’t even have to worry about smudging it your makeup though – with the setting spray I used, the only thing that’s going to take that off is a considerable amount of cosmetic remover.”

            “Oh no,” Keith grinned, handing Maray the kerchief. “This is for _you_.”

            Maray laughed, and they proceeded through the palace. Keith worried his hands nervously, thinking to everything that had been discussed between Thace, Shiro, and himself in the past several days. According to Thace as well as all the news outlets, they would be docking at Gal later that day, following the coronation. That meant that if the coup was still in processes when they arrived, there was no telling what kind of enemy reinforcements could be upon them. If Zarkon wasn’t dead before they arrived at Gal, everything was completely screwed.

            “Don’t look so terse,” Maray chided him gently as they stepped out onto the marble stairs that led down from the front doors of the palace. “I know you’re nervous, but remember to smile and wave at the people.”

            “I will,” Keith agreed, brow furrowing in confusion as he spotted what appeared to be a little golden box dripping with swags of the royal colors. Two long poles were secured to the bottom of either side, each end attended by a member of the royal guard. “What is _that_?”

            Keith, to his slight horror, was to be conveyed to a reception hall outside the plaza in the box, which turned out to be a palanquin. Maray led the procession solemnly, guiding it to the building at the edge of the plaza, the royal guard thick around the chair. Keith bobbed around uncomfortably inside, the pillows within hardly making the ride any more palatable. He squinted dizzily through the little holes in the palanquin meant to conceal him from the public while giving him enough of a view not to get completely motion sick.

            Once within the building, Keith was introduced to his entourage: a handful of richly-dressed members of the aristocracy. Many of them greeted him kindly, but some were falsely overenthusiastic about the proceedings, clearly only present for show. During the introductions, Maray slipped off, leaving Keith bobbing in a sea of strangers who began to ramble on at him in excitement. He floated uncertainly for the duration of Maray’s disappearance, relieved when the event organizer returned, dress greatly altered. Over their formal clothes they were wearing a jet black robe collared in brilliant white fur speckled with gray. On their head they wore a grandiose headband wrapped and dripping with copper findings and beads.

            “You look really good,” Keith offered them kindly. Maray blushed and beamed.

            “Thank you,” they huffed happily. “Today I am to act as the grand master of ceremonies, representative of the people of Gal,” they reported in explanation.

            Maray drew close to Keith with a kind smile, lowering their voice so that only he could hear: “I’m beyond lucky to be able to have this honor, Prince Lotor. To be able to assist in your coronation…”

            Maray trailed off, sniffing loudly and delicately wiping a tear off of their lash line with the tip of their finger, clearly overwhelmed. Keith smiled, understanding that the sincerity that Maray’s actions emerged from. Again, he set a hand on their shoulder, squeezing it warmly.

            “Thank you, I don’t really know what I’d do without your help,” Keith admitted, and Maray beamed, their ears sticking straight up in joy. “I’m really lucky to have you here.”

            “And for good reason, too!” Maray exclaimed, hands on their hips. “A coronation without a rehearsal – it would be absolute chaos if I were not to be there!”

            “What’s going to happen?” Keith asked, allowing the organizer to lead him to a fine-looking couch. Maray extracted a glass tablet from their robe, holding out the itinerary for Keith to see.

            “Thankfully, it’s a fairly straightforward ceremony,” they explained. “First the procession will take you to the dais in the center of the plaza – it’s essentially a three-fourths stage, so the crowd will be to your left, front, and right.”

            They pulled up a projection, indicating to the spots that they proceeded to speak of, “On the dais beside you, the Mother of Constellations will be sitting to your right, along with her high priestesses. To your left I will stand with representatives of the military and the rest of the board. Behind you will be your father with the aristocracy.”

            Keith scowled, wondering if the position was a coincidence – Zarkon right behind him when he was being forced to look out towards a sea of people. It wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous to keep turning around in order to keep an eye on him.

            Maray continued on regardless, “Directly behind you will sit your attendants – everyone else should have already taken their seats on the stage by the time you make your entrance.”

            They pointed at the center of the stage: “Here is the ceremonial throne, but you are not to sit here until you have received the blessings of the people, the Druids, and the aristocracy in turn. Once we get onto the stage, stand before it during the proceedings.”

            “Okay,” Keith nodded in confirmation, although he really doubted he’d managed to take anything in.

            “I will lead your procession up the aisle as the grand master of ceremonies,” Maray explained, “Following me will be your attendants, and then yourself. Two members of the royal guard will continue behind you for your protection, but will draw short of the dais. Stop before the throne and face it until you are announced, then you may turn to face the people.

            “After this, I will make a speech and then ask the board and militia if they accept you as their crown prince. They will say something along the lines of ‘we do’, and I will present you with their gift. Hold it and pause for a portrait, and then I will read off your responsibilities. When I ask if you will uphold them, respond by saying ‘I will’. I’ll take the gift from you and wrap it accordingly.

            “We’ll repeat this process two more times with the Druids and the aristocracy. Once you are accepted as heir by the Emperor, I’ll present you with a tablet to sign the official documentation. Then His Imperial Majesty will anoint you with the golden scepter and name you heir before turning it over to your hand. At this point, you may sit in the ceremonial throne. The Mother, the emperor, and myself will crown you in tandem and you will officially become prince.

            “Following that, you will stand and lead the procession back here to the reception hall where one of the wait staff will see you to your table,” Maray concluded. “I’ll fill you in about the reception from there. Did you get everything?”

            “Yeah,” Keith lied, now hardly able to keep up with the events described. “How to do I sign my name, though? Lotor, Prince Lotor?”

            “Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire,” Maray informed him. “It will be written in print below the space for you to sign. Feel free to write in any alphabet you desire – all are legally binding. As long as you mark the document in some way, it is acceptable.”

            “Alright,” Keith continued to nod, still a little lost.

            “After the crowning,” Maray resumed. “You will stand and take the podium. There has been a speech prepared for you, and it will be projected on either side of the podium for you to see…”

            They trailed off, eyes crinkling a bit wryly, “I’ve… looked over the document. It isn’t too… bad?”

            Keith laughed, immediately understanding it was propaganda. He wondered if he’d even be able to make the speech before the attack began. He doubted it – the chaos would likely begin the moment that he completed signing the document.

            Maray spotted his stony expression, reached out, and touched his shoulder, smiling encouragingly, “You have great natural charisma, and you’ve already built a wonderful rapport with the people. You’ll do fine, Your Majesty.”

            “Thanks,” Keith replied thickly, although his smile was genuine.

            It was then that the royal fanfare carried into the building, Maray sitting up straight and fumbling in their pocket for a pair of little clips, one of which they fastened to Keith’s collar and the other to their own. Making an anxious sound in the back of their throat, Maray began to arrange Keith’s attendants in neat pairs, before situating the prince himself behind them.

            “The guard will let you know when to begin your walk down the aisle,” Maray told Keith. “Try to set a relatively slow pace – step with your right foot and then bring both feet together, and then do the same with your left. Every time you bring your feet together, pause for a myokticc. Don’t bother making it exact, the music will repeat the coda until you reach the stage.”

            Keith nodded, eyes huge. He had no idea how he was supposed to remember that.

            Taking a deep breath, Maray held Keith by the shoulders and nodded at him with an encouraging smile, pulling him into a quick hug, “If you don’t know what to do, I’ll direct you around – the most you have to do is take the gifts and repeat after me before giving your speech.”

            Keith took a deep breath: “Okay.”

            He was not okay.

            Maray smiled at him before wishing him good luck, heading to the front of the procession. The fanfare continued on merrily, rising in volume when the doors opened to emit Maray, closed, and then opened several moments later in order to admit the attendants. Keith stood anxiously behind the ornate doors, rubbing his fingers over each other nervously – his heart was slamming into his chest. He’d obviously been nervous earlier, but strangely enough he was more anxious about the actual coronation than the attack scheduled thereafter.

            “Are you ready?” the guard attending the door asked excitedly, flashing Keith an exuberant smile. Keith resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, instead hardening his features and nodding tersely.

            The music picked from a _marcia moderato_ to _adante moderato_ , a single note held high and anticipatory before the doors opened and Keith stepped into the aisle.

            At his appearance, the voice of a choir showered down from all angles, white petals fluttering down from above him in a surreal flurry. The moldings on the buildings surrounding the plaza had been gilded, streamers of light shades of purple, red, and grey festooned across the architrave – the empire’s colors, only lightened in anticipation of the event. His startled image was projected above the plaza for all to see. 

            ‘ _Oh my God_ ,’ Keith thought as he advanced, immediately overwhelmed by the grandeur. He said it again aloud for good measure: “Oh my _God_.”

            The plaza was completely packed with people and their cries would have drowned out the choir if it hadn’t have been pumped in from every conceivable place around Keith. He stared out at them, lifting his hand in salutation, much to their delight. The prince made it a fourth of the way down the aisle before realizing that he’d been walking at a moderate pace, the choir picking up to match his speed. Wincing, Keith consciously slowed his movements, relieved when the choir followed suit. He struggled to walk with the timing that Maray had described, feeling as if it were taking far too long for his liking. With his pace, the dais didn’t seem to be getting any closer. But it eventually drew nearer as he approached, looking at those present on the stage.

            As Maray had said, Haggar was seated stage right before her high priestesses. The priestesses were all donning light purple ceremonial robes inlaid with silver brocade, their white masks switched out for sterling ones. Haggar stood before them, her robes all in white fur and dusky lilac, hair braided down beside her arm – she too wore a mask, this one far more ornate than the others. It was rose gold, the front of it owl-like, covering the entirety of her face. The sides and tops were decorated with coppery flowers of the same hue, spilling off of the sides in bunches hung from chains.

            Zarkon was behind the center throne, dressed in his usual garb; the only difference was that his helmet had been replaced with a proper crown of dark metal. His expression was as drawn as ever.

            Sendak and the other commissioned officers were seated beside Zarkon’s board stage left, many of them donning small, floral pins. Thace was there amongst them, too, absolutely beaming with pride. Keith sent his father a kind look, finally beginning to feel as if this was a ceremony for himself, rather than to simply appease the masses.

            Maray stood beside the center throne, already lowered to one knee in the Galra salute.  As Keith climbed the dais, the entirety of the company stood and descended into salutes – save for Zarkon who remained the only person in the plaza standing besides Keith. Swallowing nervously, Keith approached the throne, going to sit before Maray touched his leg lightly and Keith wheeled back around to face it, completely having forgot that he had to be coronated first.

            “Vrepit sa!” Maray shouted, and the entirety of the plaza rumbled the salute back in tandem, their voices a deep tremolo that shook Keith. The last times he’d been saluted anywhere near this level, he’d either been in a fugue or too battle-high to register the sheer magnitude of the words. e HeH

            Keith shivered despite himself.

            “May I present to you, his Royal Majesty Crown Prince Lotor!” Maray called, and the crowd cried out in approval the second Keith turned to face them. He was starting to feel a little dizzy, half-anticipating that he’d just pass out that very moment. There were _so many_ people, and probably millions watching the event remotely. Keith raised his hand in greeting before dropping it to his side, panting nervously. He immediately sought out Thace, the Lieutenant Commander kneeling amongst his cohorts, now also sporting one of the flower pins. Thace smiled at his son again and Keith immediately relaxed, folding his hands in front of him. Maray stood, the crowd and gathered officials following suit. The Master of Ceremonies withdrew their tablet from their robes and stepped forward to the podium.

            “On this hallowed day we gather here before you in the capital of the Galra Empire to bestow His Majesty Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire his crown and seat of power beside his father, the Most Illustrious and Wise Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire,” Maray spoke. Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes.

            ‘ _Getting out the full fancy title now, aren’t we_?’ he thought, forcing to keep his expression dignified.

            “But first, the blessings of all must be given to the prince,” explained Maray.

            ‘ _Not that it would make any difference if they didn’t_ ,’ Keith sourly commented internally.

            Maray spread their arms wide to the crowd, “Do you, the people of Gal accept Lotor as your Crown Prince? As your sovereign, protector, and beloved son of the Empire?”

            The crowd screamed out in rapturous approval, Keith absolutely certain that he was blushing by this point, Altean marks visibly glowing under his cheeks.

            Maray turned to the military and the board, “As the representatives of the people, do you Lord Zarkon’s most esteemed board of trustees and the grand and powerful Imperial Army, accept Lotor as your Crown Prince? As your sovereign, protector, and beloved son of the Empire?”

            “We do,” the addressed responded in unison, Maray reaching out to accept a small casket from Sendak. They reached in, withdrawing what appeared to be a bronzed fruit. Maray stepped close to Keith, subtly indicating his left hand. Keith held it up, flipping it palm up when Maray spun their finger.

            “The acceptance of the people is now with you, take this fruit alongside their prosperity and the Empire may flourish,” Maray explained. “Do you, Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, accept the burden of the people? Will you promise to be their sovereign, protector, and the beloved son of the empire?”

            “I will,” Keith responded, Maray setting the fruit into his outstretched hand. They stepped back, allowing a nearby recording drone to take a picture. Keith smiled the best he could manage despite his nerves – this vow was the most important of all, and perhaps the one he felt proud of.

            Maray took the fruit a moment later, removing a gray cloth from their robe and wrapping the fruit, setting it aside. They turned to the druids, addressing them next:

            “As the seers of the stars, do you, the Mother of Constellations and her wise followers the Druids, accept Lotor as your Crown Prince? As your light, your divinity, and your clarity?”

            “We do,” the Druids rumbled. Haggar picked up a parcel of her own, Maray reaching in and extracting a pair of matching metal flowers in silver and rose gold. Keith put out both of his palms without prompting from Maray, his heart slamming in his chest. The ceremony was halfway complete.

            Maray stood before him, holding out the flowers and proclaiming: “The acceptance of the Druids is now with you, take these flowers alongside their divine clarity and the constellations may shine bright upon the empire.

            “Do you, Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, accept the blessing of the Druids? Will you promise to be their light, their divinity, and their clarity?” Maray inquired.

            “I will,” Keith responded, and felt the weight of the flowers in his palms. There was another picture, and the ceremony continued. It was almost time.

            Behind him, Maray was addressing the aristocracy and the Emperor. “Do you, the esteemed aristocracy and the Most Illustrious and Wise Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire accept Lotor as your Crown Prince? As your servant and heir to the Empire?”

            Zarkon’s voice came from shockingly close behind Keith, carried alongside that of the aristocracy: “We will.”

            Maray came around to the front of the dais, walking alongside Zarkon, who was clutching the gilded scepter in his right hand. Keith steeled himself, standing straighter and making himself out to be as noble as he could. Zarkon’s face was still unreadable, but Keith suspected the Emperor could feel his fear.

            Keith held his breath. Any minute now everything would be plunged into chaos. Maray addressed Keith, already extending a glass tablet towards him.

            “Do you, Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, accept the anointing from your father the Most Illustrious and Wise Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire? Will you promise to be the servant of and heir to the Empire?”

            Although Keith’s mouth was cotton-dry, he managed to say: “I will.”

            Maray handed him the tablet with one hand, a stylus with the other. Keith stared down at it, feeling dizzy. There was a large line at the bottom, his official title written neatly below it. The second he left a mark on the tablet, it was over.

            Hand shaking, Keith pressed the stylus to the glass, freezing when nothing happened. Maray cleared their throat softly, nodding encouragingly at Keith. The prince frowned, completing his signature and watching as it appeared in every other blank space on the document. He handed the tablet back to Maray, looking around the crowd anxiously. Still, nothing was happening. The entire crowd was silent, waiting for the end of the ceremony with baited breath.

            ‘ _Are the Vesh waiting to attack until it’s over_?’ Keith thought uncertainly, Zarkon’s words lost to him as he tapped Keith on either shoulder with the scepter and pressed it into his hand. The emperor stepped back, facing the crowd, standing beside his son. The drone took their picture and Keith dizzily swayed in place. Maray tapped him on the shoulder, pointing towards the throne.

            Keith lowered himself down as Zarkon disappeared behind him again, presumably to fetch the crown. Maray removed the circlet, also removing themselves from Keith’s side.

            Soon, Haggar was at Keith’s right, Maray on his left holding a golden bandeau tiara topped with a line of white pearls, happy tears streaming down their face. Keith could feel Zarkon behind them, attempting to keep his hand holding the scepter steady. Maray lifted the tiara, Haggar taking the other side with hers, and Keith saw movement above him – Zarkon holding the middle. It settled on his head lightly, the hands withdrawing completely.

            “Your Royal Highness, you may stand,” Maray beamed, gesturing towards Keith. He stood, still anticipating a commotion, a blast— _something_.

            Still, nothing happened.

            Maray allowed Keith to hand off the scepter to them, standing to the prince’s side and proudly announcing:

            “To the people of Gal, to the Druids, to the aristocracy, and to his Most Illustrious and Wise Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire – I now present to you: Crown Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, our prince!”

            “OUR PRINCE!” shrieked the crowds, all sinking to their knees once more. “VREPIT SA!”

            Keith was shaking in place before Maray ushered him forward to the podium. Keith climbed up, resting his trembling fingertips on the cold marble. Two projections flickered to life around him, the translators taking a moment to convert the language. Keith choked, licking his lips as he opened his mouth, producing a soft noise before he began.

            “To the people of Gal, to the Druids, to the aristocracy, and to his Most Illustrious and Wise Imperial Majesty Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire, my father…” Keith read, words incredibly stilted. “I stand before you today as a servant of the empire—.”

            Keith looked down into the crowd, the eager faces of the people shining back up at him, hardly visible in the spotlights that poured down into his eyes. They looked at him, absolutely adoring.

            Their cheer echoed in his head: “ _Our Prince_.”

            Keith shook his head, taking a deep breath. It didn’t matter what he did now. If Zarkon reacted violently to his words, or he was cut off, it would make the Emperor look even worse to the public than he already did. And besides, the attack was bound to happen any minute and if not—

            Then at least he got to go out with a bang.

            “No,” Keith said softly, looking down at the shining surface of the podium. “No!”

            He felt everyone recoil at his exclamation. Keith climbed down from the podium, walking to stand before it, putting the projected speech completely behind him.

            “When I first came here,” Keith said, his voice carried over the plaza, echoing loudly. “I had no idea who I was. I didn’t even know I was a prince.”

            A ripple of confusion spread throughout the crowd, faces turning to one another, people whispering. Keith continued, surprised he hadn’t yet been stopped.

            “But now,” the prince explained. “I know who I am. Who I need to and have to be.”

            He squeezed his fists, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, “I am _your_ Prince!”

            The screams were resounding – Keith held up a hand to silence them and resumed:

            “And I stand before you _not_ as a son of the empire, but as the son of a brave paladin and a humble prince!”

            Now _this_ got a visible reaction out of even the people on the stage. Keith heard Zarkon stand behind him, and before he knew it, purple light at the edge of his vision had seized him. Keith shook his head violently, lashing out against it and pulling his body back.

            “And that is what I aim to be! Humble! I am _your_ Prince, _your_ protector, and _your_ leader! Ask whatever you want of me and I’ll perform! You’ve been living under the thumb of a tyrant for too long and I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to free you and relieve you of your pain!”

            “That’s _enough_.”

            Suddenly a member of the royal gaurd had seized Keith’s upper arm, squeezing tightly. Keith snarled, ears pinned back behind his tiara – he wrenched his arm back, immediately falling to one knee facing out towards the people, fist pressed to his heart, and screamed:

            “VOL SA!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. And here we have it guys, gals, and nonbinary pals: the kickoff for the finale of Satellite! What's going to happen now that Keith's dropped this bomb?!
> 
> All of Ches' scenes with Shiro and Keith being a communicative couple are just so <3 <3 <3 A lot of principles of their relationship are those that we base our own off of, so it makes me SUPER happy to see that healthy communication between them. They are just so tender and romantic, ahhhh <3
> 
> The coronation was an absolute BLAST to write -- I had so much fun coming up with the ceremony! I watched a few videos of coronations in order to get inspired~ the coming chapters were super fun to write as well! 
> 
> That said, we'll see you next week for an action-packed chapter!!
> 
> ~Moosey


	23. Mother

The plaza went dead quiet, Keith’s words echoing over the hovering monitors, his kneeling visage projected for all to see.

            _“Vol sa.”_

The shock wore off in waves, the crowd surging in a frenzy, yells cacophonous as they screamed their loyalty to Lotor – to Keith – to the only leader they recognized.

            “VOL SA!”

            The salute was defeaning.

            Shiro stumbled forward, jostled by the bodies pressing around him, each trying to crane forward and get a better look at the dais. _Vol sa! Vol sa!_ The words turned into a chant, a mantra. Keith remained kneeling upon the stage and just beyond him Shiro could make out the thunderous look of alarm that was spreading over Zarkon’s face as his people began to mutiny.

            He was furious, glaring spitefully down at Keith, unable to act. He took two strides towards the podium, as if to try and regain order, but the cries of the rebel chant were too strong and, sneering, he backed away, hands balled into fists. A drone flew near him and he barked an order for it to leave, the recording of his voice impossible to hear over the din.

For all of his influence – all of the might and magick he had called to his aid – Zarkon was suddenly powerless, abandoned by the masses he wrongly assumed he controlled by fear. They had chosen a new ruler. The prince’s name rose on their lips, and, despite the insurrection against him, it was clear that Zarkon could not afford to kill Keith. Before so many witnesses he was backed into a corner, his grip of control faltering.

The loyalists looked to him in despair, waiting for their emperor to act. But Zarkon stood motionlessly at the back of the dais, Haggar drawing to his side. She whispered something to him and he straightened, turning to the military – his last remaining hold on control – and issued an order.

Shiro tensed, awaiting their response. _‘He has nothing left to lose now,’_ he realized grimly, _‘Once Zarkon understands that, he’ll do anything he can to take out Keith, if only for his own sense of vengeance.’_

            “VOL SA!”

            Another exultation, except this time it came from before him, and Shiro pushed through the crowd to see a swell of commissioned officers breaking free of their ranks, looks victorious. Thace was among them, something flashing on the breast of his jacket. Shiro squinted, making out the shape: a white and blue flower.

            _‘The pin,’_ he recognized at once.

            He looked around wildly, wondering how he had never noticed it before, the enamel blossom pinned to more than half the congregation, replicated again on the uniforms of the rebelling officers. Shiro jammed his hand into the thin pocket of his pants, feeling for the round of its jagged shape. He had kept it on him ever since Sendak had pressed it against his palm, never understanding what he had meant by it. As his fingers closed around the pin his gaze returned to the stage.

            Zarkon recoiled in anger, usurped and dishonored by the forces sworn to protect him, withdrawing his sword as the uprising officers surged forward, some locking blows with the remaining Royal Guard while others hurriedly made their way offstage. The loyalists, too, were yelling out, calling to one another and fumbling for arms, rushing to the aid of their leader.

Shiro could make out the form of Thace amid the rabble, ducking out from under the lanky arm of a commander and as he bolted back towards Keith, who was only just beginning to rise. Shiro fought his way towards them, dizzied by the sudden commotion. He looked back to the dais, trying to maintain direction, and suddenly he could make out Sendak. For a moment their eyes locked and while Shiro couldn’t hear him over the din, what the admiral shouted was unmistakable: “NOW.”

            Shiro jolted to action, hurriedly securing the flower to the breast of his jacket. There was a loud whistle and a boom, and the crowd – breaking free and overflowing the aisles – dropped in fear. Shiro rose first, looking to the stage immediately and finding that the hotel behind it had been struck with something massive, black smoke billowing from its gaping face.

The Vesh had finally begun their assault.

“KEITH!” Shiro yelled, but it was for naught, his voice completely lost amid the chaos. He staggered through the panicked crowd, fighting his way forward until he could clearly see Thace, his body bent protectively over Keith’s own. They separated quickly and Thace pushed him on ahead, turning just in time to avoid the blow of the Guard who had first grabbed Keith, her sword slicing into open air.

            Thace regained balance quickly, driving his knee into her body, catching her just beneath the protection of her cuirass. She went limp from the force, losing grip of her sword. Thace didn’t give her a chance to revive, dropping her swiftly and retrieving the weapon only to run her through with it a moment later.

Another whistle and a second boom. The missile struck just to the side of the first, glass shattering down across the plaza. Zarkon faltered, staring up at the defaced hotel as though it alone represented everything he were about to lose. With a roar he turned from the fight, whirling around to the place where Keith had knelt and finding him missing. A member of the Royal Guard rushed to his side, showing him a tablet that the emperor seized in a clawed hand.

He shouted to the Druids, who dispersed into the crowd, the Guard swarming protectively around him as they warded off the attacks of the self-proclaimed Vesh. Haggar came next and the Zarkon shoved the tablet at her, yelling all the while. She said something, folding the screen into the folds of her furs and setting off across the stage. Zarkon snarled, heading opposite, his entourage following closely.

Shiro started, instantly understanding what was going on: Keith had disappeared and they were giving chase. He struggled forward, reaching the dais and pulling himself atop it, arm crackling in warning the moment he landed. Behind him, laser fire had begun raining down in earnest, the unnerving clang of metal on metal crescendoing above the rest. He raced to the center of the stage, swiftly intercepted by two lingering members of the Royal Guard.

“Vrepmyza?” the first asked gruffly, hesitating.

“ _Traitor_ ,” the second spat, jerking the head of their blaster to the pin on his front.

Shiro didn’t give them time to react, launching forward and slicing the weapon in two, the smoldering halves falling away as he surged forward, plummeting his hand into the gut of the second soldier only to have it phase through their back a moment later. The soldier sagged forward, falling onto Shiro, lifeless. Blindly, Shiro whirled about, taking the brunt of the next attack with their body. There was a shifting of weight before him and Shiro pressed back, throwing his attacker and the corpse. The bodies fell in a heap and Shiro dove to his knees, pinning the surviving guard and phasing through their helmet to the dais below.

“Nice work,” came Thace’s familiar voice, strained with worry. Shiro rose quickly, wrenching the remaining blaster free.

“Thanks,” Shiro returned, clearing the perimeter quickly. Bodies of Druids and officers lay bleeding out upon the dais, fallen swords and guns scattered uselessly at their feet. The lavender ceremonial banners lay in tatters across their immobile forms, stained black and plum with smoke and blood.

“We need to move,” Thace ordered, shaking his pilfered blade and taking point.

“Where’s Zarkon headed?” Shiro asked, following after him as they descended the stairs back into the plaza, glass crunching underfoot.

“I don’t know,” Thace returned tersely. “Must be following the signal. He didn’t see Keith leave and neither did Haggar.”

“So we’re uncompromised?”

“For now,” Thace grit. “But we have to get to Hunk, and quickly, because he’s got the tracker and the Mother will be flocking to him soon enough.”

“What’s the quickest way to the theatre?” Shiro yelled, almost deafened as the pavement exploded to his right, chunks of cement and marble hurtling passed him. He ducked with a yell, wincing as the debris caught him in the back and shoulder.

“You alright?” Thace called, turning around to help him back up. Shiro took his hand, nodding.

“Yeah; let’s just get clear of here.”

“This way,” Thace commanded, and they banked to the left towards the museum where the military had entered the plaza from. Shiro swept his blaster back and forth as they ran, noticing as more and more fighters seemed to fill the plaza, organizing into ranks and racing off in strategic directions. They were ragtag without uniform, but the shine of their pins was clear, shreds of white fabric affixed to their clothes marking their cause.

 _‘The Vesh,’_ Shiro realized, watching as groups of them herded the frightened civilians, corralling them into the safety of buildings. The people reacted with gratitude, others still growing excited and willfully taking up arms, marked by squad leaders with signs of their allegiance.

Another screaming whistle.

Thace and Shiro lunged for the open door of the museum, just barely stepping under the eaves as the missile hit, tearing the roof from the library with a boom so resounding the district shook. Above the sky flickered, a section of the façade burning away, revealing the thick metal underbelly that separated the tramline from the rest of the First Ring.

Thace scrambled up, turning to the foyer of the museum but Shiro stalled him, yanking at his bloodied sleeve. “Wait,” he barked, pointing out into the wreckage of the plaza where a few monitors still remained suspended in midair. Each screen projected something different, racing street views from across the First Ring, as if the camera was looking for something. Or someone.

“The drones,” Thace realized.

“They’re looking for Keith,” Shiro surmised grimly.

“Take out any that you see,” Thace directed, pulling Shiro up and through the museum. “They’re not only a danger to Keith but a danger to our mission; no one can know where he really is or this whole thing is blown.”

“Understood,” Shiro nodded, blowing the lock off a door with his blaster and kicking through it.

“We have to keep low,” Thace instructed as they raced through the gift shop and out into a small café. “Everything we need will be on ground level – if we go upstairs we may end up trapped.”

“Got it,” the other confirmed.

“There’s a door –,” Thace began, but Shiro was quicker, blasting out the wall of windows before them. “That works,” Thace laughed, and they charged ahead, out of the museum and back into the streets. The theatre loomed above them, all high arches and pockmarked glass.

“Where’s Hunk?” Shiro called, looking around the massive building.

“Might be inside.”

Shiro paused, trying to imagine what his teammate would do. If it were Lance he could see his friend taking up the interior of the theatre, making use of the boxes or the catwalk, even, as Vektor had done. Pidge would have stayed close to walkways, looking for a place to drop down from to ambush her enemies. And Hunk…

“Head to the front!” Shiro called, taking charge and storming around the side of the building. The entrance came into sight, obscured by a barrage of fire. The hailstorm ceased and Hunk wheeled on them, gatling gun held aloft.

“ _Back off!_ ” he growled, tone ferocious enough to make both Shiro and Thace back up a pace. Hunk froze, weapon dipping in realization. “Guys?” he asked, gaze flicking nervously to the streets around them.

“I see you’re holding up well,” Shiro chuckled, clapping a hand to his friend’s shoulder.

“Good to see you, kit,” Thace adjoined.

“Man you guys really scared the bejeezus outta me!” Hunk relaxed, wiping his brow. “But good to see you, too; missed you guys. Besides, I wasn’t sure how long I could last on my own.”

“Longer than you think, I’ll bet,” Shiro praised. “Open ground is your forte and you managed to find it.”

“Thanks, man,” the paladin grinned. “Let’s make tracks though, yeah?”

“You have the tracker?” Thace inquired.

“Yeah,” Hunk nodded, lifting his wrist to show the device fashioned into a crude bracelet. “Pidge’s idea.”

“Convenient,” Shiro noted. “Any Druids yet?”

“That depends,” Hunk returned, staring directly over his friend’s shoulder. “Are those…?”

“ _RUN_ ,” Thace barked, and the group scattered, sprinting down the main avenue. The streets trembled beneath their feet, rippling and jutting upwards as magick coursed along them, the pavement splitting under foot.

“How far is their reach?” Hunk called, throwing a glance over his shoulder in concern. The Druids were at a considerable distance but closing, their ranks flecked with blinking drones.

“Far,” Thace returned brusquely, scanning ahead for cover. “This way!”

Following his lead the team banked to the side, seeking refuge in a thin alleyway that ran behind a network of buildings. “Stay close,” Shiro whispered harshly, forced to walk in single file. They shuffled through the tight space, trying to keep quiet despite their panting breaths, the sounds of the Druids growing closer. Shiro could hear them talking among one another, voices indistinct with moments of clarity.

            “This way?” one called, the reply muffled.

            “The Mother…”

            “…bones…”

            “Traitors…”

            “The Prince…”

            “…he _won’t_ get away.”

            Shiro exhaled lowly, flooding with relief. “They didn’t see us,” he relayed quietly. “They don’t know Keith isn’t with us.”

            “Guess this thing _is_ working,” Hunk murmured, jiggling the bracelet.

            “Now where?” Shiro pressed, turning to Thace. “The Ossuary is still ahead, but the fairgrounds come before it. Any ideas?”

            “We could always just run for it,” Hunk voiced unfavorably. “But we’d probably be found out.”

            “Haggar will follow the signal the closest,” Thace estimated, “And she’ll use the Druids to comb the area around her.”

            “If that’s the case then she’s probably on her way, right?” Hunk surmised, “With more following from behind?”

            “If they’re doing a sweep then there may be some flanking our location,” Shiro added with concern.

            “You’re both correct,” Thace nodded. “The best thing to do is to push ahead but make use of cover. We need to avoid open areas and direct confrontation.”

            “Man, I hate sneaking,” Hunk sighed, looking at his oversized gun and dismissing it into the condensed form of his bayard. “I’ll do my best, guys,” he offered anxiously.

            “No worries, Hunk,” Shiro consoled him with a gentle touch, “Save your energy for later; I’m sure that gun of yours will be more than useful.”

            Regrouped they set off once more, pressing close to the sides of the buildings until the alleyway petered out into more road. They reached the east end of the Entertainment District not long after, bordering the perimeter of the fairgrounds. Momentarily stuck, they waited as Shiro carefully made quick work of the iron fence that surrounded the park, carving them a way through with the heat of his arm.

            “Why are we heading for the bone place again?” Hunk ushered as they slunk along an abandoned row of food vendors. “Like, I know we’re trying to get Haggar to show up there what with the tracker and all but how do you know it’ll work?”

            “Because the Ossuary should be where Haggar is the strongest,” Thace explained.

            Hunk blanched. “Okay, and that’s a good thing for us _why_?”

            “Because it’s also her greatest weakness,” Shiro answered. “So long as we can get this little sachet off of her. Once that’s removed she’ll be completely vulnerable.”

            “Think she’ll take such a gamble?” Hunk fretted, holding open a door to a covered stadium for them to cut through.

            “She will,” Thace assured. “She’s prideful like Zarkon is. That aside, she doesn’t think anyone knows about her weakness. The last time anyone found out was probably ten thousand years ago.”

            “Oh,” Hunk nodded good-naturedly. “Yeah, that’s a lot, good point.” He grinned, feeling more confident, “This better be a good fight then if she is certain she’ll have the upper hand.”

            “We’ll have to stay sharp,” Shiro agreed.

            They came upon the arboretum, navigating around it and through the private reception of the Vlippendho racing stadium, the Ossuary looming in the distance. Thace steered them, edging along the fencing until a gate appeared, the path behind connecting to the main road. Wordlessly Shiro destroyed the lock, the gate swinging open with a gentle push.

            “Carefully now,” he intoned, scanning the avenue for approaching Druids. In the far distance he could make out the rumbling booms and blasts of the fighting, the chaos in sharp contrast to the eerily quiet streets before him.

Shiro took another step and then was thrown to the side, Thace stepping passed him with speed. “What –?” he began, cut off by a loud crack and a small pop of energy, a drone wobbling in midair before it smacked into the pavement below, Thace’s dagger buried deep in its casing.

“Well that was close,” the Galra muttered idly, retrieving his weapon before turning to help Shiro up. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Shiro panted, heart hammering in his ears. “For now.”

They covered the remaining distance quickly, drawing before the massive structure. “This is the biggest building within the fairgrounds,” Thace explained, “But it’s not contained like the others; that means that there’s a lot of room to cover and a lot of directions our enemies could move in from. We all have to be extremely alert.”

“Scary,” Hunk shirked, looking up at the dark twisted steel and elaborate colored windows of the Ossuary. The crest glimmered at its peak, and the team observed it warily, waiting before the massive metal doors.

“Is it activated?” Shiro wondered.

“What’s happening?” Hunk whispered loudly.

“I don’t know…” Thace returned.

“Something’s supposed to happen, right?”

“It might be trapped.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“We should salute.”

“We should – what?” Hunk paused, watching closely as his companions leant to one knee, heads bowed with their fists closed over their hearts. The paladin eyed the crest of bones warily, thinking the better of his chances, and followed suit.

Shiro stared intently at the pavement, determined not to give in to fear. The Ossuary unnerved him like no place else – not even the arena set him as much on edge. Overhead he could hear silvery, indistinct whispers.

“What was –?”

“ _Shh_ ,” Thace insisted, and Hunk fell silent again.

 _‘Please,’_ Shiro begged, shutting his eyes. _‘Please let us in. We need to find cover, to trap Haggar. We’ve got to get in, please. We have to protect Keith.’_

There was a creak. Then a groan.

Thace suppressed a gasp and Shiro opened his eyes, staring in wonder as the doors to the Ossuary parted of their own accord.

“Come on,” Thace urged, and the group rose, dashing for the safety of the building’s interior. Shiro grabbed for the doors, pausing just long enough to consider the crest above his head.

 _‘Thank you,’_ he thought. _‘If you can hear me, then thank you.’_

A moment later and he hefted them closed, submerging them into darkness. The group drew nearer as their eyes began to adjust, the false light of the sky outside streaming in through the tall stained glass windows, casting the floor in rosy-purple hues. The walls seemed to shimmer up to the ceiling, their textured surface casting heavy shadows and making the space disorienting. Slowly Shiro could make out the shapes of the bones, rows of silver eyeless skulls seeming to stare through him.

“Man, this is creepy,” Hunk sighed, voice echoing faintly.

“And you haven’t even seen the catacombs,” Thace muttered.

There was a shuffling sound and the team turned towards it, only quickly enough to catch the faintest glimmer of light. The shuffle repeated, nearer and to their left and they turned again, only to find nothing.

“What was _that_?” Hunk whispered acutely.

An airy giggle.

“Be still,” Thace ordered lowly, and one by one, figures began to emerge from the walls, crawling forward curiously to regard their visitors. Hunk made a small squeak, defenses maintained despite his fear.

“ _Ghosts_?” he ushered insistently. “No one told me there were _ghosts_.”

The specters materialized more fully, gauzy and pearlescent, drawing near only to puff away back towards the opposing walls, their existences seemingly tied to the place their bones were displayed.

“Please, please don’t tell me they’re like the Huaka’i Po,” Hunk begged.

“The what?” Shiro frowned, turning his cheek from groping transparent fingers.

“The _Nightmarchers_ , dude!” his friend cried. “Only like the scariest ghosts _ever_.”

“These ones will be fine so long as you don’t anger them,” Thace intoned. “And so long as –” he broke off suddenly.

 _Fwoosh_.

Above them a small candle burst to life, purple flames licking the sides hotly. The ghosts recoiled, unintelligible voices mingling.

_Fwoosh._

Yet another votive caught light, beginning to illuminate the massive chandelier of bones at the building’s center.

“What’s… going on…?” Hunk queried, readying his bayard uncertainly.

_Fwoosh._

The shades curled and dissipated into smoke, receding back to their walls and their boxes with little wails.

_Fwoosh._

“They’re hiding…” Shiro observed nervously, the last of the ghosts fading from sight.

_Fwoosh._

The Ossuary quieted, the chamber within flickering with amplified purple light. Shiro pressed himself against the wall, finding a bit of an alcove and gesturing rapidly for his companions to do the same. Overhead the chandelier finished lighting itself, the skulls that crowned it oozing with black wax.

“She’s here,” Thace warned.

And then the doors blew open.

Silence.

Shiro caught his too-loud breath, pulse frenetic in his ears. He pressed back against the wall, bones biting into his skin as he tried to conceal himself from view. He could no longer see his companions, their own bodies tucked from sight. All that was left to him was the back of the Ossuary with its wide rose window, the path of light it cut across the floor just enough to make out Haggar’s silhouette.

The Mother of Constellations crossed the threshold, the swish of her furs dragging along the marble vault, her steps clicking and steady. They grew, louder and closer, her shadow increasing with each passing moment. Shiro stilled, wisps of breath curling in the air, the room suddenly frigid. He clapped a hand over his mouth, hoping to suppress the evidence, heart slamming against his ribs. He could hear Haggar’s approach, now painfully close. And then, all at once, it stopped.

 _‘Shit!’_ he panicked, looking to the floor where her outline had been, the blushed marble now devoid of her presence. He didn’t dare to move. There was a creak, a low whine, and a flourish of whispers. A shuffle. The air became electric, the intent of magick buzzing against Shiro’s skin, making him recoil.

A bubbling of incomprehensible words, rising in volume, in harshness, but never in clarity. Specters dripped from the walls, phasing through them. As though underwater, they drifted, robes and long white hair fanning out around their translucent bodies, rose gold eyes unfocused. The past Mothers of Constellations.

Dreamily, they peered about, scanning.

Shiro fought down the rising panic. Thace had never finished his thought. “So long as you don’t anger them,” he had said, “And so long as…” But he had never finished the rest.

 _‘As long as they aren’t summoned against you,’_ Shiro completed with dread. He held still, afraid any movement would betray him.

But something was casting light.

Shiro looked to the source, his throat running dry. His arm – Galra-made and sensitive to the presence of the ghosts and the influence of the Druid – had traitorously begun to glow, orchid ribbons radiating from the limb.

Something tickled his ear, breathy and warm.

_“Found you.”_

Shiro whirled about, hackles rising as he raised his arm to strike – only to be met with the smirking visage of himself. “ _You_ ,” Shiro breathed, taken aback by the sight of his shadow self.

“Yes,” the shadow laughed, lunging forward and seizing Shiro by the neck, “ _Me._ ”

The ghosts snapped to attention, and Shiro could feel their eyes on him as he struggled beneath the choking grasp. In unison they tensed, exploding into screams as their images contorted ghoul-like, fingers lengthening into terrible claws as they dove to the floor of the vault. Their bodies twisted and tore through the space, spectral wind following and buffeting at Shiro at he fought to get free. Forced from hiding, Thace and Hunk launched into the fray, voices distorted as their yells echoed in from all sides.

“Where’s Haggar?” Thace barked behind him.

Shiro lashed out, nails scraping at his mirror’s face, trying to break his grip. His shadow merely laughed, lacerations disappearing the moment they were made. He turned suddenly, teeth gnashing down on Shiro’s outstretched hand, making him scream.

“ _Stop!”_ he begged, vision spotting.

“No,” the double hissed, his voice a strange concoction of Haggar’s and Shiro’s own. “ _Where is the prince?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Shiro answered chokingly.

“ _Lies_!”

“I don’t!” Shiro insisted, making a last ditch effort to break free. He jerked a knee, hoping to throw off his attacker, but the shadow was stronger, shaking Shiro by the neck forcefully. “I. Don’t. Know!” Shiro reiterated in pants, lungs screaming.

“ _TELL ME!_ ”

“SHIRO!” came a yell, and the paladin was no longer certain who had called to him. His world was darkening. Then he was falling, crumpling to the floor with bruising force, the air forced back into his lungs far too quickly. He coughed and sputtered, shivering and massaging at his throat. His ears were ringing, and suddenly he knew why, a hand thrust into his line of vision. He accepted it quickly, pulled back to his feet by Hunk, whose smoking gatling gun was braced against his other shoulder.

“Thanks,” Shiro breathed.

Hunk nodded sharply, bracing himself before his teammate and turning back into the room. “Don’t mention it,” he said in reply as the shadow rose, leaking black smoke. The false Shiro grinned, wiping at his mouth and Hunk aimed his weapon, letting it roar to life, “Let’s just get out of here alive, alright?”

“Take him out!” Shiro yelled, just barely audible over the reverberation of the gun, “I’ll find Haggar!”

“He’s stronger than before!” Thace growled, barreling in from the right. His sword came down in a steady arc, catching the shadow in the shoulder and making him hiss. The false Shiro turned on him, reaching for his blade in an attempt to control it, but Thace rebuffed him, swinging an elbow into the junction of his neck and making him drop.

“How do we kill it?” Hunk asked desperately, making to fire once more, set upon instead by the angered spirits. Their howls like rending metal, they swarmed the team, lashing out and tearing at skin and clothes, their nails carving channels against the plates of Hunk’s armor. He cried out in anguish, littered with small cuts. He wiped at his face with a shoulder, bandana falling away in tatters, matted hair falling into his eyes. He looked furious.

“Shiro, go!” he urged, swinging the heft of his gun before him to ward off attack. “We’ll figure something out; take out Haggar and this will _all_ be over.”

“Understood,” the black paladin nodded, looking around wildly for his target. His arm pulsed so thickly with energy and light that it was becoming painful, a silent migraine settling vicelike around his skull, ears still ringing from the cacophonous sounds of their fight.

 _‘Where would she go?’_ Shiro thought frantically, dodging behind pillars of bones. _‘If she thought she was the strongest here, then where would she go?’_ He winced, back ramming against the wall as he tried to press away from the onslaught of a ghost, her hands swiping out to clutch at his legs. He turned, scrabbling away, hand brushing against cool metal. Starting, he found himself positioned before a pair of great metal doors that stood slightly ajar.

 _‘Down,’_ he realized, racing passed them and taking the narrow stairs as quickly as he could. He wavered as he went, feet eventually folding out beneath him. He slid down the remainder of the stairs, hitting the landing roughly with a gasp. He got to his feet quickly, one arm braced to his rapidly bruising ribs. He could worry about the damages later.

 _‘Haggar knows this place better than anyone,’_ he analyzed, setting through the dark of the catacombs. _‘It’s huge; it must span a good chunk of the First Ring’s underground.’_ Shiro hooked a right on instinct and ran along the stretch of another tunnel. _‘It’s like a maze – no, more like a fox den,’_ he realized. _‘Zarkon’s bunker is in the furthest reaches and you can bet he’d have multiple means of escape. Which means that there must be gateways into the district above. If that’s the case…’_

Shiro grit his teeth, urging himself on faster. He had no idea how he was going to find his way back, but it didn’t matter, not until Haggar was eliminated. _‘She figured it out,’_ he growled in frustration, _‘She realized Keith wasn’t where our tracker read, that she was deceived. She set the spirits on us and bailed, trying to distract us so that she could go after him herself. She –.’_

Shiro pulled short, nearly running straight into a curved wall. “What?” he spat aloud, glaring at the inscription stamped beneath a gilded shadow box. He knew he’d read it before. A spirit blossomed from its center, disregarding him entirely to tear upwards through the ceiling.

“No,” he muttered, turning about. The ghost wouldn’t have operated without reason. “No, no, _fuck_!” he yelled out, slamming a fist against the casing. He’d been set up.

Enthralled by Haggar’s magick, the spirits could only do as they were bid, their actions directed to the Ossuary vault above. But if Haggar’s control over them arose from her possession of the Mother’s Hands, then she had to still be close in order for her will to have effect: Haggar had never left the Ossuary – she had only made it look as though she had, all in the hopes of removing him from the equation. She had led him down to the catacombs for the sole purpose of getting him lost.

Shiro’s heart lurched and he set off again, faster than before, desperately trying to remember his way back. He couldn’t hear the fighting above him, the walls of the catacombs too thick to transmit sound. _‘Hold tight, guys,’_ he begged, not wanting to think of the danger he’d inadvertently left Hunk and Thace to, _‘Please, please be okay.’_

He hit a dead end, jerking short of the wall and screaming, “ _NO!_ ”

He wheeled about, fighting down his growing panic. _‘She’ll kill them both and then come for me,’_ his thoughts raced, _‘She’ll come for me and then she’ll go and kill Keith.’_

“PLEASE,” he yelled aloud, his own voice filling his ears. He didn’t know who he was calling to, his feet pounding beneath him as he tried to make sense of the series of tunnels. The dead peered at him from everywhere, eyeless sockets watching without empathy as he fought to find his way.

Something was materializing ahead, a grand white figure that seeped from a door made of bones. “Wait…” he murmured, slowing before the specter. “I know this place; this is where Maray led us, this is the way to the bunker, which means,” he cried, turning to the path that forked to his right, directly opposite the massive door. The spirit seized him from behind, arms ensnaring his shoulders with a cry.

Shiro shouted, twisting away from her, hands raising in defense. “Stop, please!” he called, “I know you; I know who you are! You’re Mugenleb!”

The shade hesitated, head lilting to the side speculatively.

“Help me find Haggar,” he pleaded. “Help me kill her.”

Mugenleb rippled forward, anger palpable. Her jaw fell impossibly wide in a piercing cry, and then she was tearing forward, sweeping through Shiro’s body in an icy wave. He stumbled, turning quickly enough to watch her ascent. Without time to catch his breath, he bolted, his entire body screaming at him in protest. The stairs rose before him and he crested them, not stopping until the metal doors returned to sight.

Bursting through them he reentered the vault, its floors covered in the powdery silver of pulverized bone. Thace and Hunk stood in the center beneath the canopy of the chandelier, the fading body of his copy sprawled on the marble before them. The yellow paladin had fallen to one knee, breathing heavily and on the verge of passing out, Thace spread protectively above him, not faring much better. They looked up sharply as Shiro entered, another set of eyes trained on him in an instant.

Haggar set upon him with a screech, rocketing into him from where she had been hovering midair, the force driving the air from his tortured chest. Shiro slammed against the heft of the doors, letting his body slide to the floor to avoid her next attack. Before she could react he scrambled to the side, clawing his way back up only to square off again, arm thrumming dangerously.

“ _Insolent!_ ” she spat, rounding on him. She charged, arcane words spilling from her lips, the spirits around them reacting violently to the command.

“We’ve got this!” Hunk yelled, voice strained as he hefted his bayard and set to firing once more.

 _‘I’ve got to end this, soon,’_ Shiro winced, swiping at Haggar as she charged him. The blow chanced the side of her head, slicing through the fine chains and flowers of her mask, the owl-like veil slipping to reveal the fury of her eyes. She hissed, ripping it from her face and casting it aside.

“This is a battle you can’t win, Vrepmyza,” she sneered, spirits coalescing at her sides. Shiro braced himself, preparing for their onslaught. He glanced worriedly to his team – his friends, his family – and Haggar caught the look, smiling wickedly and expelling the shades towards them.

“NO!” Shiro yelped, unable to stop her.

 _‘There’s only one way,’_ he realized, surging forward and swiping for the Druid’s chest. Every blow seemed to just chance her, her raspy laughs grating as he failed again and again to wound her. She whispered something hurriedly, calling to hand a ball of energy and Shiro just barely ducked it, the projectile falling somewhere beyond him and erupting in a torrent of bones.

“Give in,” Haggar crooned.

“I won’t.”

“You will,” she promised, lashing out and capturing his face in her hands. “When death takes _him_ ,” she pressed, watching in sadistic delight as Shiro thrashed against her, “When death takes _you_.”

Shiro broke free, something tangling in his hand as he fought her off. “Death hasn’t stopped me yet,” he growled, and he yanked, a cord popping free in the clutch of his palm. He fell heavily backwards, rolling over the marble and crashing bodily into a column of femurs. He straightened with a groan, the vault around him cutting eerily quiet.

Haggar had collapsed to the floor, clutching at her torn robes, gnarled fingers searching frantically. The spirits paused, twisting in midair, their gazes pinned on her vulnerable body. Haggar looked up sharply, finding Shiro and emitting a terrifying scream.

“WHERE IS IT!?” she accused, staggering to her feet.

Shiro scooted away, finding he had nowhere further to run, his back pressed to the arch of the Ossuary wall. His grip tightened, and he brought his closed fist before him, the soft crush of dried petals hushing in the pouch that spilled over the side of his palm. Haggar locked sights on it, her wails growing louder.

“GIVE IT TO ME!” she ordered, disheveled hair broken free of its braid and billowing out around her with crackling light. Her hands swelled with golden energy, now only a few yards from Shiro’s prone form. He backed further, completely trapped, arm held out in front of him his only means of protection.

“GIVE IT BACK!” Haggar bellowed, and the energy jolted forward, a golden bolt of lightning that tore towards Shiro’s chest. There was a flash of movement and then a soft grunt and Thace had sagged before his feet, struck.

“ _THACE!_ ” Shiro’s voice twinned with Hunk’s in terror.

“GIVE IT –!” Haggar insisted, advancing. But her cry caught in her throat, her body propelled to the floor with a harsh crack as the spirits swarmed her, their screams outmatching her own as they tore their claws into her limp body. She flailed, broken-off chants perforated the air as she was slowly torn apart, the fur of her robes decimated within minutes. Dark purple blood was seeping from her in thick rivulets, mixing with the ashen bone and flecks of gilding, a small cosmos of its own.

Shiro watched in transfixed horror, gathering Thace into his arms tightly. The man’s eyes flickered to Shiro’s tiredly, smiling. “You’ve done well, kit,” he prided, breath labored. “We did it.”

Shiro nodded wordlessly, not letting go as Hunk gathered to their side, out of breath and assessing Thace rapidly. Beyond them the white form of Mugenleb materialized, watching pitilessly as Haggar was broken before her. She descended with a burst of wind, the other ghosts parting like waves. Mugenleb wrapped Haggar in her arms, dragging her across the broken marble, throwing her to the center of the vault. Haggar stared up at her predecessor with wide eyes, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“Mugenleb…” she made to supplicate.

The specter cocked her head, rising to loom over her. Haggar was babbling, promises coming as equally as threats. She failed to move. Mugenleb burst forward, tearing through the thick metal fixture and the chandelier crashed down with sickening finality atop the Mother of Constellations.

The ghosts stilled, turning from the crushed remains to look at Shiro, the hex bag still clutched in his hand. Mugenleb drew before him and he hugged Thace closer, Hunk making to bar her way to them both. But the spirit waited, staring patiently to the black paladin. Shiro started, suddenly realizing what was being asked of him: the petals of the Mother’s Hands within his grasp, he wielded control over the ghosts of the Ossuary, their autonomy left to his whims.

Shiro shook his head, making to set the pouch aside but thinking the better of it. He wouldn’t leave them to someone else’s cruel intentions. If the hex’s recipe had been Haggar’s secret, then he would see to it that it died with her.

“You’re free,” he ushered, tightening his grip on the hex bag and letting the heat of his hand sear at it. “Go,” he urged, “Do as you please.” The sachet burned away in his grasp, the ghosts fading from view one by one as it disintegrated. Mugenleb was the last to go, her expression relaxed into one of peaceful acceptance. She held her arms wide, aureate eyes closing.

“Thank you,” Shiro murmured, and she exploded into a burst of beautiful white light, fading from view a moment later.

“It’s done,” Hunk voiced, throwing the tracker to the ground and crushing it underfoot. “It’s really done,” he repeated, helping Thace to his feet and bracing the Galra’s body against his own. Shiro joined them, redistributing the weight and offering his thanks to Thace, who smiled in turn, determination gleaming in his golden eyes.

“To Keith?” he offered, and Shiro nodded.

“To Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reach into your local City Station and you might find a friend and Hunk! It's so great to see a familiar face -- Ches does an excellent job writing Hunk, he is such a sweet but so badass <3 I loved hearing her read this chapter to me, she does such a great job of creating a tense atmosphere before a fight.
> 
> So we're closing in on the end here friends~! I'm so excited for veryone to be able to read the final few chapters, eee!!!
> 
> The rough draft of the next installment in the series -- Constellation -- is finished! We just need to do some editing and rewriting/reworking and it'll be good to go! The day we post the last chapter of Satellite, we'll post the fist chapter of Constellation and link you! We can't wait for you guys to read it, its a good one!!
> 
> As always, thank you for your love and support <3 I'm so sorry I haven't been replying to comments as much -- I've had to take on more job assignments to be able to pay for my student loans over the summer (I'm a substitute teacher) so I've had less free time than usually. I'll be sure to go through and reply when I have the time!
> 
> ~Moosey


	24. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for verbal abuse and strangling.

            Keith pressed against the flow of the thick throng of people, for once glad for his petite size. He’d managed to disappear into the crowd from the stage soon after his father had leapt to protect him; Thace had issued a quick message of pride and love to his son before urging him to go. He shed himself of his cape as he pressed against the terrified citizens, hands having been grasping and tugging it, begging for his assistance and protection.

            “I promise I’ll help you!” Keith had yelled, having little more he could think of to say. Wincing, he’d readopted his human form, using it to edge through the sea of people unrecognized. He was delivered to the streets outside the plaza moments later, stumbling when another explosion shook the foundation, civilians screaming, and shrapnel raining from above.

            Vesh fighters poured in from the tram tunnels above, jetpacks bolstering their descent as they encircled the crowd protectively. All of them wore either the blue and white floral pin, or some sort of coronet or lei of silk flowers displaying the same colors. White sashes and ribbons demarcated them further, stark against the dark of their clothes.

            “Get to the temple, you’ll be safe there!” a druid draped in a white sash cried out to the people, the rest of the Vesh urging them towards the consecrated ground. Keith silently thanked her, allowing himself to be swept along towards the building. He managed to break out of the crowd before it bottlenecked up the front steps, slipping around the side of the building and circling around.

            “KEITH!” two voices shouted in unison, and then Pidge was barreling into him, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Keith that speech was _metal as fuck_!”

            “You were such a badass!” Lance agreed, throwing out an arm and enveloping Keith in a one-sided hug.

            “ _I’m_ a badass?” Keith laughed, returning their embraces with fervor. He pulled away, grinning at Lance. “I don’t know, from that conversation we had the other day, you really seemed have taken charge of the team since Shiro and I left.”

            Lance’s cheeks darkened and he produced a goofy smile, perking up energetically. “You think?!” he quipped excitedly, the situation clearly too dire for his usual vein façade.

            “Yeah,” Keith smiled, touching his arm. “Proud of you.”

            Lance made a noise so joyful that it was nearly inhuman and Keith laughed before addressing them with a serious expression: “Should we head towards the palace?”

            “Not just yet,” Pidge shook her head, holding out her palm. “Give me the tracker?”

            Keith nodded, extracting the tracker from the sleeve of his flight suit and popping it into her hand. She pulled something from her cuirass, slipping the tracker into a little metal pocket on what appeared to be a bracelet before handing it off to Lance.

            “Why does he get it?” Keith asked, blinking.

            “Like I said, I’m not letting your ass out of my sight,” Pidge pointed at Keith, eyes narrowed.

            “If things go to shit, I’ll run off as a distraction,” Lance provided. “That way you’ll be able to get out of Dodge safely.”

            Keith blushed, and if his Altean marks had been visible, they would be brighter than ever, “That’s – you don’t have to do that, Lance. That’s really generous.”

            “Well, your staying safe is kind of an integral part of all this, so let me take care of things,” Lance winked, securing the bracelet around a wrist. “Where to?”

            Keith jerked his head across the street that separated the temple from the theatre, “There’s a way to get into the palace grounds from behind the cinema.”

            Pidge extracted her hailer, projecting a map of the area and tracing a clear path from their location to that Keith had indicated, “Got it.”

            “Wait,” Lance paused. “Are you armed?”

            “No,” Keith shook his head. “It’d be too suspicious to bring my bayard to the coronation – we’ll have to pick it up from my room when we get to the palace.”

            Pidge and Lace exchanged glances, the latter of which reached behind her into one of the many custom slots she’d built into her cuirass. From it, she produced the familiar form of Keith’s dagger, twirling it towards herself and turning it over to him by the handle. Keith grinned, gladly accepting it and finally unfastening the wrappings, the glowing mark on the handle shimmering brightly. Blinking in realization, he split the wrappings in two, handing one side over to each of his friends.

            “Put these on,” he directed. “The resistance is using white to denote themselves.”

            His friends nodded in understanding, each helping the other to wind the wrapping around their biceps. Keith smiled in approval, turning to face the main street that he’d come from.

            “Let’s go,” he directed them, and the other two paladins drew their bayards, charging into the fray.

            Thankfully it appeared that the Vesh had the majority of the territory in front of the temple at this point, someone immediately turning towards Keith and his entourage as they emerged from behind the building. It was Nylan, a white sheet dangling cape-like from her shoulders, crowned with a circlet of silk flowers.

            “Are you fighters?!” she shouted, spotting their colors. Keith smiled and dropped his transformation, the ex-royal guard starting in shock. “Your Imperial Majesty!”

            It was Keith’s turn to look shocked, staring at her with huge eyes.

            “We’re heading towards the cinema!” Pidge filled in. “Can you give us cover?”

            Nylan nodded, turning in sudden realization and blasting a drone out of the air. She stared at the front lines, eyes widening in horror.

            “ _Fuck!_ THE DRUIDS!” she called out. “ZUNA, NOW!”

            “Right!” the Ovate’s voice broke through the crowd, a pink glow erecting a translucent barrier before the Vesh’s ranks.

            Nylan looked back to them, “We’ll give you as much cover as we can. Just watch out for drones, they’re combing the area for you – we’ll keep the loyalist Druids back as long as we can.”

            “Thank you!” Keith called to her; Pidge, Lance, and himself fought through the ranks of Vesh, the fighters crying out their prince’s name in approval as he ran past them.

            ‘ _Fuck, they’ll alert everyone to my position_!’ Keith swore internally, pushing past them.

            “Who’s Lotor?” Lance asked.

            “Long story,” Keith scowled.

            Thankfully, they managed to cross the street of soldiers fairly expediently, the alleyways leading to the cinema disturbingly empty. Keith narrowed his eyes, exchanging a wary glance with Pidge as they approached.

            “There’s a break in the stone wall behind the movie theatre,” Keith explained. “Right behind the bushes. We should be able to get in through a tunnel through the gardening shed—.”

            “Moleer!” someone cried, and Keith turned, dagger raised on instinct before he lowered it hesitantly. A Vesh fighter with a white bandanna around his neck was sprinting towards him, a blaster crossed over his chest– Keith immediately recognized him as a member of the royal guard.

            “I wish to escort you!” he professed, dropping into a kneeling salute.

            “Thank you,” Keith said warily. “But I think we’d rather go as a small team – the Vesh need manpower out in front of the Druid temple.”

            “But I insist—,” the Vesh fighter said desperately.

            “We need to go,” Keith shook his head. “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to—.”

            There was a quick shift of the fighter’s posture, the salute turning into an aim as he trained the muzzle of his gun on Keith’s heart. But before Keith, Pidge, or Lance could act, the soldier’s head was jerked violently to his right, a fine purple mist spraying out the side of his head. He looked dizzily at Keith for a moment before falling to the side, his gun clattering uselessly before him.

            “What—?” Keith whispered, and then a familiar voice called down from the roof of the cinema.

            “You really ought to watch your back better, Prince.”

            The paladins turned, watching as a figure jumped from the side of the building, the jetpack built into their cuirass buoying them to a gentle landing. It took a moment for Keith to recognize her, sporting jet-black fatigues and armor and her hair having been cropped short in anticipation of the coup.

            “Hiya,” Tora grinned around at the three, crossing a massive black sniper rifle over her chest. A white ribbon was worn in her hair like a headband, the tails dangling purposefully from the sides.

            “Tora!” Keith smirked back, immediately reaching out to grasp his friend’s hand in thanks. “How did you—?”

            “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since the coronation began,” she explained, patting her rifle lovingly. “I followed you out here, but I’ve also been looking over that sketchy guy – he was separated from the ranks and I didn’t know what he was doing over here at first.”

            Her eyes narrowed in concern, “You ought to be careful trusting anyone, even if they’re dressed like Vesh – a lot of people want to get their hands on you, you know.”

            “I know,” Keith sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face warily before turning to the blue and green paladins. “Lance, Pidge – this is Tora. She’s been helping me out since I got here.”

            “Hel- _lo_ ,” Lance waved flirtatiously, throwing Tora his most charming smile. She threw back her head and laughed.

            “Sorry kit, but I’m a lesbian.”

            “Hel- _lo_ ,” Pidge trilled in the same intonation as Lance as the blue paladin drooped in dismay.

            “Tora, this is Pidge and Lance, they’re my teammates,” he gestured towards each in turn.

            “Pleasure,” the Galra said shortly, before facing Keith once more. “What’re you doing over here? Why aren’t you in the ranks?”

            Keith’s eyes narrowed seriously and he turned to face the stone wall, knowing that the palace was just beyond it, “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

            “ _BZZT!”_ Pidge cried. “Okay, time out. That’s a quarter for the extra jar.”

            “The _extra jar_?” Keith turned to her, quirking an eyebrow.

            “The extra jar,” Lance repeated solemnly. “We set it up after you left; it has a drawing of your face taped to the front. Every time anyone does or says something dramatic, you have to put money in,” he drooped a little sheepishly. “I mean like ninety percent of the money in there is mine right now, so…”

            “We wanted to discourage you from doing stupid shit like stabbing yourself again,” Pidge explained. Keith laughed, Tora quickly following suit.

            “I want to hear more about that,” she grinned, jerking her rifle towards their right. “This way. I assume you’re trying to get into the palace? I know a quicker way in.”

            “Thanks,” Keith said, and the trio followed her down the line of the wall, coming across a wrought iron gate with a keypad lock, which Tora gestured for Lance to shoot off.

            “Your majesty,” she said sarcastically to Keith, opening the gate and gesturing in with a flourish of her hand. Keith rolled his eyes at her, Pidge and Lance snickering behind him as they piled in through the servant’s entrance, Lance acting as vanguard and sweeping the area with his blaster before gesturing them into the covered trellis that led to the servant’s entrance.

            “We have to hurry,” Keith encouraged them. “I’m surprised Zarkon hasn’t shown up yet, he _must_ have tracked us down by now.”

            “ _Hold_ ,” Lance called as they pulled up to a break in the trellis. He scoped out either side, gesturing for Cora to take the right. “Drones.”

            The pair of them began to fire in quick succession before Lance took the lead once more, urging the others to follow.

            “What’s the plan when we get there?” Tora asked.

            “We’ll be looking to draw Zarkon into a big enough area to have a comfortable fight,” Keith explained. “I don’t want to face Zarkon’s whip-sword in close quarters.”

            “Good idea,” Lance nodded. “What about us?”

            “Tora, Lance, you two snipe any sort of guards from long range, we’ll try to get somewhere where you can have a high vantage point,” Keith directed them. “Pidge, you pick off the rest that get passed them. I’ll take on Zarkon myself.”

            “Extra jar!” Tora smirked over her shoulder at Keith, much to Pidge and Lance’s delight.

            “Okay, shut up,” Keith smiled, rolling his eyes as they finally arrived at the servant’s entrance.

            “The shuttle station!” Tora suddenly exclaimed. “There’s an emergency entrance to the shuttle tunnel above the first ring from the palace. It’s a really open area, and there are cat walks for maintenance that blue and I can get up on to snipe.”

            “Where’s the entrance?” Keith inquired.

            “There used to be an elevator to it on the first floor, but now you have to go through the emperor’s chambers to access it,” she explained. “But if we want to stay out of their range, we’d have to climb the shaft – we’ll get in through the maintenance entrance on the third floor.”

            “Good plan,” Keith agreed. “We’ll follow you there.”

Lance blasted the lock off again and they piled into the halls, heading for the staff’s dorms and the servant’s entrance of Keith’s room. Above them they could hear commotion on the upper floors of the house – gruff voices barking orders – the loyal remains of royal guard. Presumably, Zarkon was up there as well.

            Immediately the prince set upon his closet, opening one of the jewelry draws and extracting his bayard hidden within. As he did, Licorice perked up from where he was sleeping in a plush necklace rest, glaring accusatorily up at Keith with bleary eyes.

            “Come on little guy,” the prince said, scooping up the mouse and popping him up onto his shoulder. He wrapped his daggar in a scarf he grabbed out of a nearby cubby, storing it in his boot. “We’ll get you home to see your family.”

            When Keith left the closet, the others were standing anxiously in his room, having gathered the remaining quintessence that had been prescribed to him.

            “It isn’t much, but it could be a lifesaver if used correctly,” Pidge explained, handing two small vials off to each of them. “Got everything you need?”

            “Yeah,” Keith said, tucking the Quintessence away. He then pulled Licorice off his shoulder, setting him on Pidge’s head. “This is Licorice, he’s a friend of the other space mice – can you keep him safe in your armor?”

            “Sure thing!” Pidge flashed a thumbs-up at Keith, tucking Licorice into a pocket alongside her hailer.

            “You two go on ahead up the stairs and scope the area,” Tora addressed Lance and Pidge. “I need to talk to Lo.”

            “Lo?” the other paladins quipped in confusion.

            “Just go,” Keith jerked his head towards the door, turning to face Tora. “What is it?”

            Suddenly, Tora threw her arms around Keith, squeezing him close to her chest before dropping her mouth close to his ear.

            “Sorry Lo, but you’re too important to this revolution to die,” she said, immediately fighting against his struggles. “I’ll come back for you later.”

            With a frightening amount of Galra strength, she heaved him away from the door, hurling him against the opposite wall and sprinting for the hall, locking him in behind her.

            “TORA!” Keith screamed, quickly righting himself and sprinting towards the door. “GOD DAMN IT, TORA OPEN UP!”

            “ _Sorry!_ ” Tora replied, her voice already fading.

            ‘ _Those idiots, they’ll fucking die up there!’_ Keith thought, and then snarled, already activating his bayard and slicing through the wood. The glass within it that had been used to keep the room cryogenically sealed shattered, and he made fast work of it with several hacks – but not fast enough.

            Keith shoved his hand through the splintered hole, groping around for the handle and unlocking the door. He bounded up the stairs, looking wildly around the hallway before bursting into the foyer. It looked like Tora had managed to lead Lance and Pidge away – but by the sounds of turmoil deeper within the palace, the battle had begun before they could make it to the shuttle station.

            ‘ _High vantage, large space. High vantage, large space,_ ’ Keith repeated to himself internally, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes snapped open in realization. ‘ _The grand ballroom!_ ’

            There was a massive balcony circling above the dance floor, an ideal vantage point to snipe down onto a battle happening below. Keith immediately ascended the imperial staircase, sprinting for the massive set of double doors above that led onto the balcony above the ballroom. He slammed his shoulder into one of the doors, leaning his entire weight into it and tumbling in.

            “—the blue paladin.”

            But he was too late. Zarkon was already there.

            In the ballroom below stood Lance, obviously having used himself to draw the Emperor straight into the ballroom. There was gunfire and the sound of a scuffle dimly audible from outside the room – Pidge and Tora were taking on the royal guard. And Zarkon was approaching the blue paladin with steady steps. Lance held his blaster in shaking hands as the Emperor advanced, the paladin refusing to move. Keith quietly moved around the perimeter of the balcony, thankful that Zarkon was not facing him, but wanting to get directly behind him for an attack.

            “What, exactly, are you attempting to accomplish?” Zarkon inquired smoothly, and for a horrible moment Keith thought that the Emperor was speaking to him. He dropped his eyes to Zarkon’s massive form, relieved to realize that he was still addressing Lance.

            “I’ll—,” Lance choked out, straightening his hold on his blaster and aiming towards Zarkon. “I’ll kill you!”

            Zarkon laughed softly, shaking his head. “Please, I encourage you to try,” he spread his arms in a symbol of false benevolence and Keith felt his insides rot and curdle, immediately recognizing the behavior. “I’ll even let you take the first shot.”

            ‘ _Perfect_ ,’ Keith thought in triumph. Even if the shot wouldn’t damage Zarkon, it would still be enough of a momentary distraction for Keith to get the drop on him. He glanced at the blue paladin in anticipation. ‘ _Bested again by your arrogance. Come on, Lance…_ ’

            But Lance was hesitating, eyes clearly flickering in anxiety, unsure if the offer was a trap or not.

            Zarkon hummed amusedly, taking another step towards Lance.

            “I see you fail to live up to the words you speak,” he observed. “Did you know, Serro, that fear can easily be molded into obedience?” Keith’s blood ran cold as Zarkon extended a hand towards Lance. “And you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

            Keith saw red and Lance took the shot.

            Before he could register his own actions, Keith had hurdled himself over the banister, bayard digging into the back of Zarkon’s cuirass, the heated tip penetrating the metal and the spongy connective tissue of Zarkon’s spine below it. He landed roughly on Zarkon’s left shoulder, slamming them both into the ground and driving the sword in even deeper. Viciously, Keith ripped back the sword, pulling away from Zarkon and slicing at the back of his neck, leaving a deep indent.

            “LANCE!” he shouted, standing to run to his friend’s side. But Lance was still staring at Zarkon in silent horror. Keith immediately backed up, watching as tails of golden light rose from the wounds on Zarkon’s neck and back, the emperor easily picking himself up as the overabundance of quintessence oozing from his body stitched him back together. The prince nearly tripped backwards, startled by the emperor’s sudden revival. Zarkon drew his bayard, the weapon coalescing into the form of a pistol, pointed straight at Keith’s head.

            “KEITH!” Lance screamed, sprinting to Keith’s side, and Zarkon wheeled on him, the sound of a single shot echoing throughout the ballroom.

            “LANCE!” Keith cried out. Lance was staring straight forward at Zarkon with unseeing eyes, a bullet hole clearly visible in his cuirass. He brought his hand to his chest, tapping around the hole lightly as sticky blood began to ooze out of it. His dropped his bayard, the weapon resuming its reduced form and clattering uselessly down onto the marble tile.

            Zarkon took a step back, watching with amusement as Keith ran to cradle his collapsing friend. But suddenly there was a loud noise, Zarkon’s head jerking to the side much as the head of the loyalist who’d attacked them earlier had. Dark blood and quintessence spilled to the side and Keith looked up at the banister where Tora stood, panting heavily.

            “HELP HIM!” Keith screamed, and she jumped down, dropping to his side as the emperor picked himself up off the floor like a disjointed marionette, head still lopped over at an odd angle.

            “I’ll get him up to the station!” Tora told him, scooping Lance up in one arm while fumbling with a vial of quintessence with the other. “Don’t worry about finding me—I’ll bring him to you.”

             She popped off the cap and shoved it into the hole in Lance’s cuirass as quickly as possible before carrying him away into another room. Meanwhile, Zarkon’s head was cracking back into place, the glazed-over quality in his eyes fading as presumably his brain was healed.

            Keith stared up at him in disgust and loathing, right hand naturally seeking the blue bayard as they locked eyes. Keith stood, raising his own bayard in his left, and in the right formed its twin from the blue: Serro’s sword.

            Zarkon huffed an amused laugh, beginning to circle Keith, who immediately adopted a fighting stance. The emperor raised his own bayard, the enormous pistol glowing violet, transforming before Keith’s eyes into a replica of his swords. But it had become perverted in Zarkon’s grasp: the white metal had been replaced by black, the edges of the sword jagged barbs, promising a thorough mutilation to whomever it penetrated.

            “Did you know her?” Zarkon asked, continuing to circle Keith. The prince followed suit, stalking in circles around the emperor in turn. “Before she died in anonymity?”

            Keith was silent, still holding both swords at the ready, concentrating at the possibility of either an attack or opening.

            “Did you _love_ her?” Zarkon mocked him, his smile turning positively cruel. “If you did, then you knew nothing of her. She was a willful snake of a slut until the very end – spreading her legs for garbage and siring his bastard child.”

            He pointed the tip of his sword at Keith to indicate him, “You are no son of mine. I know that now.”

            “I have _never_ been your son,” Keith snarled in return. “The only snake here is you, Zarkon.”

            The emperor threw back his head and barked a manic laugh, “Oh really?” he condescended.

            “How does it feel,” Keith began, also gesturing purposefully with his bayard. “To have to see his face every day? Having to constantly see the person you betrayed and murdered? The person you _loved_?”

            Zarkon’s expression sharpened, clouding in confusion before his eyes widened in realization, lips twitching into a snarl.

            “No,” Keith shook his head, eyes absolutely vindictive. “No, someone like you isn’t _capable_ of love. You _never_ loved Orkah, did you?

            “SILENCE!” Zarkon howled, and charged. Keith crossed his blades before him, creating a makeshift barrier, but the pressure of Zarkon’s blow quickly drove him to his knees. The emperor leaned his weight down on his sword, Keith’s trembling as he struggled to contain the blade sinking down between them.

            “You’re just like her,” Zarkon snarled. “A mouthy little _cunt_ , a vindictive _slut_. What are you trying to do, reclaim her honor? Take vengeance?”

            “No one needs to do that; my mother had her revenge,” Keith panted, arms quickly beginning to fatigue. “When she escaped and lived out the rest of her life safe from _you_!”

            He allowed the blade to split his own, drawing them out to the side in order to spring backwards. Zarkon advanced, the bastardized copy of Serro’s sword transforming into the familiar chain sword that the emperor had used to attempt to bring down the Red Lion. He reared his hand back, striking out at Keith with it. The paladin attempted to block the blow, but it was too strong; the weighty metal sending him flying into a wall, where he crumpled to the ground.

            Zarkon approached him, picking Keith up by the throat and throwing him bodily back to the ground. Keith screamed, the impact shaking his head violently, a split breaking out across his forehead immediately, blood gushing down into his eyes. Zarkon stomped on his chest, ribs cracking audibly beneath his metal boots, and Keith could feel his insides convulse, penetrated by the bones. He coughed, completely overtaken by pain.

            “How quickly you’ve fallen,” Zarkon observed, withdrawing his foot from Keith’s chest. “Would you like me to break you slowly, _prince of the people_? What would the separatists think of you now – already dead before the fight’s even begun?”

            Keith attempted to move, shrieking when the action jostled his broken and battered body. Zarkon stepped back to watch him struggle, a look of mild amusement on his face.

            “I won’t…” Keith panted, using his sword as a crutch to pull himself to his feet. A familiar sensation was spreading over his skin and he recognized it immediately – the vials of quintessence he’d had stored on his person had shattered in the impact. It had soaked into his skin, gifting him its protection. Painfully, Keith’s bones jerked back into place, but he stood regardless, much to Zarkon’s horror. Keith extended his arm towards Zarkon again, the sword pointed at him in challenge.

            Zarkon smirked, trying to cover up his surprise with his typical cruel, unaffected mirth. “Persistent,” he accused Keith.

            “It ends here, Zarkon,” Keith returned bravely.

            “Oh?” the emperor chided, his bayard changing form once more – a massive version of the pistol from before. “Will it now?”

            ‘ _That thing’s destructive power is doing to be devastating, but it’s a terrible tactical decision for close-range combat,’_ Keith snarled in realization. ‘ _He’s showing off, playing with me_. _He won’t even bother to take me seriously.’_

But as Zarkon aimed, something strange overtook him, violet eyes pulsing white for a split second before he coughed violently, vomiting a mouthful of Quintessence onto the floor beside him.

            ‘ _What?_ ’ Keith thought, watching as Zarkon righted his weapon, looking hatefully at Keith, even as his body was wracked with further coughs, Quintessence spilling from his mouth with each seize of his lungs. His face broke out in angry patches, Quintessence bubbling up below it, creating little tumorous growths. Keith’s eyes widened as he understood.

            ‘ _Shiro and the others must have killed Haggar! Without her, Zarkon can’t control all the Quintessence inside of himself,’_ Keith identified. ‘ _It’s overcorrecting and healing him_ too _well – his body is essentially attacking itself._ ’

            Keith took this as an opportune moment to strike; he charged for the distracted emperor, crossing his blades in front of himself again as Zarkon’s bayard returned to the form of Serro’s sword, sliding between them.

            But this time, Zarkon managed to drive Keith’s blades to the ground, delivering a swift kick to his temple and knocking him backwards. Keith howled in pain, stars sparkling in front of his eyes as he went down. Terrified, he felt Zarkon’s weight above him, the emperor straddling him and wrapping his hands tightly around Keith’s throat, smiling manically into his face, putting pressure down onto his windpipe with his thumbs. Quintessence oozed from his breath, skin contorting even further. Keith immediately kicked out, but Zarkon pinned Keith’s legs down with his own.

            “Would you like to know how I would have killed her?” Zarkon whispered to Keith, squeezing his neck even tighter. “I would have strangled her like this, so she could die _knowing_ _her place_.”

            Keith scratched at Zarkon’s hands, vision already beginning to give way to white spots, jugular aching acutely. His mind was reeling, looking for a way out, searching for something, _some_ way—

            He could think of nothing else but Serro in the same situation following the attack on the summit, pinned below Zarkon as he steadily strangled the life out of her – begging “ _please_ ”.

            Keith’s eyes widened and he reached up, Zarkon reeling his head back, thinking that Keith was attempting to claw at his eyes. Instead, he merely covered them, giving himself just enough time to complete the transformation.

            He dropped his hand, Zarkon’s resulting snarl falling to flat surprise as he stared at the form of Serro spread out below him, face pale and eyes desperate.

            “Zarkon,” Keith choked out, voice barely a squeak with the pressure that was being put on his windpipe. “ _Please_.”

            And then—there was just the slightest moment of hesitation, the relaxing of Zarkon’s hands around Keith’s throat, and the red paladin dropped his hands to his side, gathering up the bayards and swinging the blades in, slicing into either side of Zarkon’s throat.

            He choked, immediately removing his hands from Keith’s neck, hands wrapping around the blades, groping uselessly and slicing his palms in the process. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he slumped forward, the Quintessence oozing out from the wounds, massive tumors of flesh forming around the swords. Keith wrenched the blades back, blood spattering everywhere as the Quintessence worked against the emperor, building the skin around the wounds thicker and thicker, choking him from the inside out – the wound acting as a catalyst to further push the Quintessence’s healing abilities. It began to pour from his mouth and eyes in sick rivulets, coursing down his nose alongside torrents of blood as his immune system went into overdrive. He reached out for Keith, clawing uselessly at his prosthetic as he struggled for breath, other hand scratching at his throat desperately, attempting to dig out the overabundance of flesh constricting his airways.

            Keith stared down at him coldly, still in Serro’s form. While it would be more than enjoyable to draw things out, he had a job to do.

            Taking turns with either bayard, he began to hack at Zarkon’s neck in earnest, the burning metal slicing through flesh, hissing and sizzling loudly as the fallen emperor screamed silently though the fleshy tumor growing out of his mouth. He tumbled over to the side, convulsing in pain. Keith finally withdrew his swords, casting the blue bayard aside as the red began to change form—

            ‘ _The bayard has the ability to take the form of any defeated bayard user’s weapon,’_ he recalled of the diary. ‘ _Or ‘weapons’ in this case. I’ve gained Zarkon’s entire arsenal.’_

The red bayard expanded, Keith gripping it with both hands as he stared down at Zarkon, Orkah’s axe held in both hands. Zarkon looked pathetic, pained, horrified – all of the emotions held beneath his cocky exterior crumbling as he faced his executioner, his death.

            “I’m sorry Orkah,” Keith said, rising the axe above his head.

            It descended a moment later, smoothly cleaving through flesh, Zarkon’s head rolling to the floor, his body collapsing beside it with fleshy weight. Keith seized the blue and black bayards beside it, and then the head before the Quintessence could reach out for it. A fleshy lump healed over Zarkon’s neck, tumors still breaking out over his skin, further distorting the body. Keith willed away the transformation, taking the head and carrying it over to the hallway where he knew Pidge was fighting. It was fucked, but he had a message to send to the people.

            The green paladin was panting, screaming out as the final guard left clashed his sword against her bayard. Proof of her handiwork was all over the hallway – a handful of collapsed and dead gaurds with electric traps spider-wrapped to their necks. But the moment the guard spotted Keith emerging from the ballroom behind her, his grip on his sword fell, and Pidge drove her bayard into his unprotected stomach, the warrior’s blood curdling scream filling the room. She followed it up with a slice to the neck before turned around to see what had distracted the soldier. She looked at Keith in concern, eyes blown wide the second she recognized what he was holding.

            “Pidge,” Keith said, voice unnervingly even. “Find a camera drone.”

            “I—,” Pidge looked from Zarkon’s head to Keith’s face and back. “Okay.”

            She withdrew her hailer, one of the drones on the floor flickering back to life in response – it looked as if she’d hacked the system in order to disable it.

            “Can you broadcast it everywhere?” Keith asked solemnly, and Pidge nodded.

            “As best I can,” she told him.

            Keith nodded stiffly, aching to have the severed head out of his hands. Calmly, they headed towards the foyer, the drone bobbing alongside Keith, sweeping out in front of him as the doors opened. The grounds were an absolute wreck, the Vesh and loyalists having apparently passed through during Keith’s time inside. The drone swung out in front of the palace, Keith directing Pidge to record.

            Hands trembling, Keith held up the head towards the drone for all to see.

            “This is for the people,” he announced loudly. “You’ll never have to live in fear of this monster again. Now…”

            He knelt, setting the head aside and saluting to the camera – to the people – to _his_ people, “ _I_ am your emperor. Vol sa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom.
> 
> But wait!!! There are still two more chapters left to go! What will happen to Lance? Will the paladins escape City Station safely? This and more on the next chapter of Satellite! 
> 
> As always, thank you all so dearly for your reviews and kudos <3 We'll never be able to put into words how much your kind messages mean to us. We look forward to hearing from our regular commenters every weekend! Again, I'm so sorry I've been so bad about replying to your comments, I'll try to reserve some time to do so in the near future!
> 
> Much love to all of you!
> 
> ~Moosey


	25. Yield

            The iron gates of the palace broke into view as Shiro, Thace, and Hunk followed the main avenue, cresting a crop of buildings and striding onto the royal grounds. They traveled as fast as they could at Thace’s insistence, but the going had been hard on all of them, the Galra in particular. Shiro waited a pace for he and Hunk to catch up, anxious to be beside Keith once more. He could hear his boyfriend’s voice echoing from across the City Station, his solemn words of victory easing the dread from his heart.

            Keith had defeated Zarkon.

            They had won.

            Hunk offered a soft laugh, flapping his hand at Shiro. “Go,” he instructed, “We’ll catch up to you.”

            “But –” Shiro made to protest, already increasing his pace.

            “Go on!” Hunk urged, and Shiro broke out into a full sprint. In no time at all he had come to the palace’s front steps, Keith and Pidge already anticipating his arrival, a camera drone bobbing beside them. To Keith’s left was an odd bundle covered in cloth, and Shiro knew from the broadcast that it had to be Zarkon’s head. Clearly battle-worn but smiling, the prince – the _emperor_ – rose, dashing the final distance to bury himself in Shiro’s chest.

            “Keith,” Shiro joyfully sighed, nuzzling against the top of his boyfriend’s head, enjoying the feel of him safe in his arms. They parted just enough to look at one another, foreheads resting together before they were surging forward, Keith’s arms locked around his neck as they kissed. Pidge made an overdramatic noise of disgust and without stopping what he was doing, Keith raised his hand to flip her off.

            “Yeah, yeah, get a room,” Pidge retorted playfully.

            “You better not have been recording that,” Keith warned, not leaving the circle of Shiro’s embrace.

            Pidge looked to the little drone innocently, shaking her head. “Of course I wasn’t. Why would I ever – oh!” she paused, pressing a hand to the side of her helmet and listening intently. “Allura’s checking in,” she whispered to them.

            Shiro nodded tiredly, not really wanting to take his eyes off of Keith, his boyfriend clearly sharing his sentiments. The red paladin wrinkled his nose, smiling wryly. “What’s this?” he asked, reaching up to toy with the band of silk flowers that crowned Shiro’s head.

            “Oh,” the other chuckled with embarrassment. “It was a gift,” he explained. “From the Vesh. I guess when we took out Haggar it had more far reaching affects than we’d anticipated. I don’t understand how it works, but all of the Druids seemed to have felt her passing. Without her around, a lot of those loyal to Zarkon surrendered or gave up and defected.”

            “So that just left the military and Guard,” Keith assessed. “Handy.”

            “Undeniably,” Shiro agreed. “I get the feeling that the goals of the Druids don’t exactly match up to that of the Empire’s and that it’s been that way for quite some time. Without Haggar’s rule they seemed downright passive.”

            “So what?” Keith mused, rubbing a cloth petal between his fingertips. “The Vesh crowned you as heroes?”

            Shiro blushed, ducking his head. “I wouldn’t say ‘heroes’ –” he began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Hunk and Thace. Keith took sight of his father and ran to him, flooded with concern.

            “Dad!” he cried, helping him onto the steps with Hunk’s assistance. “Are you alright? What happened?”

            “Thace took a blow for me,” Shiro explained.

            “Here,” Keith murmured, withdrawing a vial of Quintessence from his flight suit and passing it over. “Pidge gave me these in case I still needed – no, never mind, just take it,” he insisted, aiding Thace in bathing his wound.

            “We can’t linger, kit,” Thace frowned, wincing and then sighing with relief as the Quintessence lessened the pain. “The Royal Guard –.”

            “ _FUCK_ ,” Pidge swore, catching them all off guard. She trembled where she stood, palm still pressed to the side of her helmet, her other hand curled in a fist.

            “Pidge?” Shiro reached out, fear once again unfurling itself in his gut. The green paladin looked ready to cry.

            “Fuck…” she repeated, shaking her head.

            “What is it?” Keith anxiously asked, rushing to her side and taking her shoulders up in his hands. “Are you okay?”

            “No, I am _not_ okay,” Pidge returned fitfully.

            “What –?”

            “We lost Lance,” she announced.

            “What?” Shiro heard himself repeat, unable to process the words. Keith faltered, a hand pressed over his mouth in horrified shock.

            “What the hell do you mean we ‘lost Lance’!?” Hunk was the first to ask, managing to sound furious and terrified all at once.

            “We _lost_ him,” Pidge reiterated without answer.

            “We…” Keith wobbled, beginning to hyperventilate, “We gave him Quintessence, right away, as soon as we could, how… what… no…”

            “He’s not dead,” Pidge shook her head, looking no more relieved, “Or… maybe… I don’t know. We don’t know.”

            “How could we not know?” Hunk snapped, looking around suddenly. “Where the hell is he!?”

            “That’s what I’m saying, damn it!” Pidge yelled, burying her eyes behind an arm. “He’s not here anymore. He isn’t on the _Intrepid_.”

            “He… left…?” Shiro queried, head swimming.

            “No…” Keith murmured, growing fitful. “No, he passed out after Zarkon shot him. And I –!” he cut off, wide eyed. “I told Tora to –! I _trusted_ her! She had to have taken him, no one else could have.”

            “But… why?” Thace questioned, rising from the steps.

            “Who cares _why_ ,” Hunk fumed, unsheathing his bayard, “Just tell me where he IS.”

            “Don’t you think I’d say if I knew!?” Pidge cried, growing angry.

            “Guys,” Shiro interjected, stepping between the green and yellow paladin. “Enough; we’re all worried about Lance. Pidge, tell me what happened. You were talking with Allura?”

            “Y-yeah,” Pidge nodded, flexing her hands fretfully. “She was telling me how things were going with the Vesh; that we’d have to be careful but that we should make our way to the hangar to get back to the Lions. But then… then she asked if we were all together yet, and she went to check the trackers and one of them just fell off the map. It’s just… it’s gone.”

            “Maybe it was a mechanical error?” Shiro offered, but Pidge was already shaking her head.

            “It wasn’t like that,” she exhaled slowly. “The tracker went straight into the heart of the _Intrepid_ and then it just… it left.”

            “Left?”

            “Like he got into a cruiser and left City Station,” Pidge explained apprehensively. “He’s not here _at all_.”

            “I’m leaving,” Hunk announced, turning on heel and marching back the way he’d come, bayard still extended.

            “Hunk!” Shiro called.

            “I’m gonna find Lance,” the yellow paladin returned brusquely.

            “You don’t even know where you’re going!” Pidge cried.

            “None of us do!” Hunk exclaimed, turning back sharply. “So what? I’m not going back to the Castle until he’s safe!”

            “I’m sorry, but we don’t have that luxury,” Thace spoke up, expression pained. “We all need to get to the hangar, I’m afraid – listen.”

            The group paused, the distant sound of fighting growing louder with each passing moment. An explosion boomed out, rattling the district and making the sky above flicker out. “The Vesh?” Keith whispered hopefully, another bombing proceeding.

            “That’s not the Vesh,” Thace assured darkly. “The military isn’t holding back any longer; they’ll take out anyone not in armor. We _have_ to go. _Now_.”

            “BUT –!” Hunk growled, but Thace threw up a hand.

            “I know, kit. I’m scared for him, too. Lance is a good friend and I don’t want anything to become of him. But we’re no good to him here; we have to go back to the Castle and regroup. We’re all tired and we’re all wounded. I’m sorry, but none of us are in any condition to do anything just yet.”

            On the verge of tears, Hunk bit back a retort, pulling his flower crown down over his blood-matted hair and nodding sharply, once. Shiro felt the group relax along with him.

            “Stay sharp, everyone,” he ordered, indicating for them to move out. They hesitated, Hunk stalking off ahead with Thace and Pidge trailing behind, the little drone making up the rear. Keith hung back, darting back to the front steps to scoop something up.

            _‘Oh please don’t be Zarkon’s –,’_ Shiro inwardly begged, only to find himself speechless when Keith presented him with the black bayard.

            “You’ll need this,” he intoned softly. “Come on.”

            Shiro nodded, testing the heft of the weapon in his hands. In light of his arm’s abilities it felt strange to have something more traditional to fight with and idly he wondered what the bayard would transform into at his command. Without anything to clip it to, he kept the weapon in his organic hand, wanting his fighting to be unhindered.

            _‘Now is not the time to be taking risks,’_ he muttered.

            Thace had taken the lead the moment Hunk proved he didn’t know where he was headed, and tensely they all made their way through the City Station. The plaza where the coronation had been held was almost unrecognizable, pale standards and banners torn with laser fire and blackened by smoke, the gilt buildings serving as crumbling sentries. It was hard to imagine it had been a place of grandeur only a few hours before.

            Their passage through the arena was blessedly short-lived, no one being in the mood to poke fun at either Shiro or Keith for their glorious posters and effigies, all too engrossed in their worries about Lance. The Coliseum emptied out into the mall of the Second Ring, which in turn gave way to the upscale military housing that Shiro and Thace had called home.

Shiro’s heart twisted as they passed, wanting desperately to stop and retrieve Nai. But she was smart and he knew her well enough to know that she would have hidden herself the second the bombing got underway, no doubt holing up in the vents beyond his reach. They simply didn’t have the time to expend on looking, not without endangering the entire team.

            _‘I’m so sorry, Nai,’_ he apologized with distress, _‘Please stay safe, alright?’_

            Realizing he was trailing behind, Shiro picked up his pace, joining Thace and the others as they came upon the large dome that was the hangar. The lieutenant commander guided them through the outer layers of doors, referring to Hunk for instruction and sensing that the yellow paladin needed some means of feeling useful.

            “We all came in Pineapple,” he explained, gesturing to their group. “We flew in with the Vesh and activated the cloaking device, that way the Galra never saw us. Thanks to Pidge, all regions of the hangar unlocked, so we were able to find Red and park right next to him.”

            Keith made a small quip, balking at the use of the term “parked” in relation to their extraordinary spacecraft. “We should hurry, though,” he added in seriousness. “Even with the extension, the cloak will have dropped a while ago. When we first got here Red was taken into the hangar on the _Intrepid_ – they can use the tractor beam tech to relocate even ships of this size to other bays.”

            “Great,” Pidge groaned, speaking up for the first time. “So now we have to hope that no one’s jacked our escape route.”

            As luck would have it, both the Red and Yellow Lions were precisely where they were supposed to be, Keith granting them access to the high security hangar with a touch of his palm to the door’s sensor. The group sighed in relief, heading through the half-lit concourse quickly. Foreign cruisers and pods littered the path, forcing them to pick around the rebel craft, the symbols of the Vesh crudely painted to their sides. Halfway to the Lions, their luck ran out.

            Sendak reclined against the upturned belly of a Vesh vessel, regarding them with a victorious sneer as they approached. Thace immediately dropped into a defensive stance at the sight of him, trying to shield the rest of the team despite his wounds. The paladins rapidly followed suit, bayards extending.

            “ _Admiral,_ ” Thace addressed coldly.

            “Don’t you look the parent, Thace,” Sendak smirked, posture relaxed despite the energy that sparked into his arm, “Protecting your kits. I suppose those rumors are true. It must have felt good to have been acknowledged today, before all of Gal.”

            “It did,” Thace returned stiffly. “But you’re not here for idle conversation; what do you want?”

            “Who cares what he wants?” Pidge quipped, bayard cracking in warning. Sendak’s gaze snapped to her, instantly growing enraged to find the paladin that had so thoroughly humiliated him in the past. But the look faltered, going beyond her and fixing on something that made his brow set with frustration.

            “Pidge,” Keith intoned, but his friend wasn’t having it.

            “Come on, throw me at ‘im, Keith,” she crowed determinedly, “I’m not letting the bastard get away this time.”

            Shiro moved forward without thought, hand settling over Pidge’s shoulder and discouraging her with a look. She wilted with confusion and Shiro pushed it from mind, circling to the head of the pack and standing boldly before the admiral.

            “Vrepmyza,” Sendak greeted cordially. “Felt like having your turn?”

            “Not now, Sendak,” Shiro returned forcefully. “Get out of the way.”

            “And why should I do that?” the other mused.

            “You have nothing to gain from impeding us,” Shiro began, only to be met with a bark of laughter.

            “I think you woefully underestimate what exactly I stand to gain.”

            “You saw what happened to Zarkon,” Keith spoke up, stepping forward with all the mien of a monarch. The addressed cocked his ears in interest, something flashing across his face that the black paladin couldn’t quite describe.

            _‘Is it jealousy?’_ Shiro wondered as the young emperor drew to his side, _‘Certainly not fear, but annoyance and maybe even… respect?’_

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Sendak acknowledged at length.

            “Admiral Sendak,” Keith stated firmly, “I command you to step aside.”

            “And should I refuse?” Sendak hummed, genuinely intrigued.

            “You know the price of insubordination.”

            “I know _Zarkon’s_ policy,” Sendak pointed out, “But I do not know _yours_. Unless you intend to be the same ruler as he was?”

            “ _No_ ,” Keith snarled.

            “You _are_ running away, though,” Sendak grinned wickedly. “And didn’t you make promises to the people? It must be hard to help them from the comfort of your Lions.”

            “I’m _not_ leaving them!”

            “You’re using the Vesh as cover,” Sendak analyzed, “Because you’re too weak to take the throne as it stands. You’re running and letting their blood pave the way for your empire until the time you can come back and reclaim it. Tell me how that’s different.”

            “I don’t have a choice!” Keith grit.

            “Likely.”

            “If you intend to keep your admiralcy, you _will_ stand aside,” Keith ordered.

            “My admiralcy?” Sendak mused, “You’ve given me far more than just that.”

            “What?” Keith spat, and ice slugged through Shiro’s veins in understanding.

            “Are you leaving or aren’t you?” Sendak laughed, gesturing to the Lions behind him. “Have you not effectively given me everything I’ve ever wanted?”

            Keith wavered, suddenly understanding what was being said. “You intend to take the throne?” he balked, crossing his bayard before him warningly. The sword wavered, red light encapsulating the blade a moment before it transformed, morphing into a two handled axe. The group responded in shock but Keith didn’t flinch, eyes locked on Sendak’s. “I’ve already deposed of one tyrant; I’m more than willing to take down another.”

            “Just let us leave,” Shiro interjected swiftly, trying to shake the panic from his fluttering chest. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Why stop us?”

            “There’s more than one way to skin a gal’stara,” Sendak intoned purposefully.

            Shiro bristled, tugging at the dirtied breast of his jacket where the flower pin still remained. “We don’t have time for games,” he snapped. “ _This_ wasn’t a game.”

            Sendak quieted, thoughts unreadable.

            _‘No matter what you’re up to, you protected me,’_ Shiro thought desperately. _‘Everything that has happened – everything that you and I are and were – and you still went out of your way to make sure I was safe.’_

“This wasn’t a mistake,” he continued knowingly, “So don’t make it one now.”

            Behind them the massive doors of the control room stormed open and they all flew about to face it, scores of Druids pouring into the hangar.

            “I thought you said they surrendered after Haggar died?” Keith spoke with alarm, turning to Shiro abruptly.

            “What…?” the black paladin stammered, the rumble of Sendak’s voice already providing the answer.

            “ _Merla,_ ” he pronounced around a scowl, arm crackling in earnest with the intention to fight.

            “ _Sendak_ ,” Shiro insisted, the Druids growing closer. They were too many in number and there was no way that Team Voltron could fend off both them and the admiral, especially in their current conditions.

            “Go,” Sendak barked, not taking his eyes off the enemy Druid. The group hesitated, shocked.

“Like hell I’m letting him rule my people,” Keith snarled, axe still drawn.

            “We’ll come back, kit,” Thace promised, urging him towards the Red Lion. “Protecting you is the only way to protect the Empire.”

            Sendak looked to them, still frozen in place, and he shouted again, voice angry and defiant, _“GO.”_

The paladins scattered, charging for the Lions. Shiro pounded after them, only to be caught by the arm, Sendak pulling him to the side intently. “You _will_ come back,” he uttered confidently. “I’ll be waiting.”

            Shiro broke away, awash with confusion, and Sendak let him go, defending the runway as Team Voltron made their escape. Without needing to be told he boarded Red’s open mouth, joining Keith and Thace inside and bracing himself for the journey. The Lions roared to life, tearing from the hangar and tunneling through the opening bay doors, rocketing out into space.

            “ _GUYS_ ,” Hunk called out over the intercom as they made their escape, the orchid light of hundreds of Galra ships targeting their position at once. “We’ve got company!”

            “GO!” Keith yelled, throwing the thrusters to their maximum and gunning the Red Lion after the Yellow, two bright streaks aimed at the Castle of Lions. They punctured through the Castle’s barrier at once, the fleet hot in pursuit, lasers pinging off the shield with dizzying rapidity.

            “Paladins!” Allura’s voice reached them. “We have to move, there’s too many ships!”

            “Understood,” Shiro yelled across the coms, and then there was a lurching sensation, followed by a jolt and sudden sensation of speed. The paladins tumbled out of their Lions, pounding to the elevator and through the levels of the Castle.

“Everyone!” Allura called in relief as soon as Thace and the paladins spilled into the control room. The mice were settled on her head and shoulders, drooping in relief as soon as they spotted their returning friends.

            “Keith! Shiro!” Coran exclaimed, charging for Keith and Shiro and gathering them each up in an arm each, squeezing them close. “You two gave me such a fright! I’ve missed you more than a plorpian misses its junibee!”

            “Thanks Coran,” Keith choked out, absolutely squished by his enthusiastic hug. Coran dropped them, setting a hand on each of their outer shoulders. His eyes were misting up with tears – he was absolutely beaming in pride.

            “We managed to pick up a signal from the broadcast of the coronation!” he explained, giving Keith’s shoulder an extra squeeze. “Keith, that speech was absolutely astounding! The very image of royalty! Why if King Alfor were here—.”

            “You guys I’m sorry to interject, but we kind of have a huge Lance-shaped issue here!” Hunk said loudly over Coran’s salutations. He turned to Allura, expression dead serious. “Princess, can you find the signal from the tracker from out here? It’s probably still on him.”

            “Right,” Allura said, turning to her control panels and drawing up a map of the nearby star systems. She made a concerned noise, the paladins perking up in alarm.

            “What is it?” Pidge asked, immediately coming to Allura’s side, the drone trailing after her.

            “Did something happen?” Hunk demanded, heading up to the control panels as well.

            As Allura worked, there was a shuffle from the pocket in which Pidge kept her hailer – and out popped a little purple mouse, squeaking loudly. The mice on Allura’s shoulders stood to attention before descending her as fast as anyone had ever seen them go. The purple mouse all but launched himself from Pidge’s pocket, the mice communing with each other in overjoyed little squeaks, all nuzzling and hugging the purple mouse happily.

            Shiro smiled at their antics before looking back up to the projected screen, horror pooling in his gut as soon as he saw Allura’s expression.

            “What is it?” he asked. “What happened?”

            “Allura?” Hunk inquired in alarm, turning to the princess with wide, desperate eyes.

            “I’m… I’m sorry, but the wormhole leap sent us too far away to receive any signal that the tracker could produce,” Allura admitted, turning her attention to Hunk, whose face had immediately become withdrawn. “I don’t—.”

            “We have to go back!” Hunk insisted, throwing his arms out in desperation. “Allura, we _can’t_ just leave him there! Who _knows_ what could have happened – he could have ended up kidnapped by the loyalists or – or—.”

            His face was clouding over with horror, tears welling up in his eyes.

            “Hunk, we _can’t_ ,” Allura insisted apologetically. “I’m—.”

            “No! Bullshit!” Hunk yelled, clenching his hands into fists. Angry tears were falling from his eyes. “We went back for the Shay, we went back for you, _we’re going back for Lance_!”

            To everyone’s surprise, he rounded on Keith, scrubbing away his tears with the back of his hand, “How could you hand him off to a stranger like that?! You knew we couldn’t trust _anyone_ there!”

            Shiro started to move between them, but his boyfriend was shaking his head in frustration, looking genuinely apologetic.

            “Hunk, _I’m sorry_. Lance was really badly hurt and Zarkon was literally _right there_ –Tora had helped me out countless times, and I thought that I could trust her!” he bit out, reaching out to touch a hand to the yellow paladin’s bicep. Hunk wrenched his arm back while shaking his head fervently – he was clearly far too upset to be touched.

            “Sorry’s not gonna fix it, Keith!” Hunk argued. “You can be sorry all you want but that’s not going to bring back Lance!”

            Keith drew his hand back, still looking guilty, but almost hurt.

            “Pidge was there, too Keith! Why didn’t you hand Lance off to her – she could have gotten him to safety just as well and she’s your _best friend;_ you _know_ you can trust her!” Hunk continued, almost hysterical. Tears were falling down his cheeks unchecked; he looked miserable.

            “I was busy!” Pidge stepped in between them, acting in Keith’s defense. “Tora was helping me from a balcony above, and I told her to go check on Keith and Lance once I’d gotten the vast majority of the guards under control.

            “Besides,” she added. “Tora was Vesh, and she had no reason that we knew of to betray us like that. We trusted the rest of the Vesh, didn’t we? And also the O’shetal and Stellites who supplied them with weapons – they were our allies, we had no reason not to trust them!”

            Hunk hung his head, and although he still looked deeply upset, he raised it again to address Keith.

            “Keith, look… I’m sorry, bud. I’m sorry to everyone – especially you Allura—,” he added to the princess over his shoulder, who nodded at him in understanding. “I didn’t mean to yell at all of you. It’s no excuse but I’m just… I’m _really_ upset right now. Lance is like… my best friend in the world and I just—I don’t know what I’d do if something happened him…”

            Hunk trailed off, looking hard down at the floor as he wiped away his tears with a palm, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, Allura.”

            “…it’s quite alright,” she said after a short pause. “I think all our emotions are high right now. You have undoubtedly had a very busy day.”

            Everyone seemed to just stare at their feet, too exhausted to continue.

            “Allura, you said it was impossible to return for Lance?” Thace inquired after a pause. “Was there a reason why? Maybe we could come up with another way?”

            Allura shook her head, “Unfortunately the best we could do right now wait whilst I rest up—it took a great deal of energy to bring us this far from the Vol System. It should be about a day at the very least before I can open another wormhole.”

            “I can work on improving the tracking system to have a wider scope,” Pidge offered. “I’ll also work on digging up information on Tora through the civilian archives. Maybe there’s something written up about her that can be useful.”

            Shiro saw Keith’s ears perk up out of the corner of his eye, “There’s a few things that could help you: she acted as my attendant for a while, so you might still find her info with that of the other members of the palace staff. She also told me she was in black ops, so some of her information might be under military profiles, and encrypted at that. She was… an officer? A sergeant? Something. In addition to this she was stationed at Hydrus when I was there – I had a run-in with her at the base, actually. She was using a pseudonym at the time – Cora. She said her adoptive dad was hiding her there since she he was a political enemy of Zarkon and she was Vesh. Her specialty is a sniper rifle.”

            “And you actually _believed_ all that?!” Pidge threw up her arms in exasperation, now also upset with Keith. “Your maid is secretly the adopted daughter of a powerful military presence sent far away under a pseudonym for her own protection – and oh yeah, she’s black ops, too!”

            “I _can_ confirm she was military, though,” Thace supplicated. “She was one of the people in charge of locking me up at the base on Hydrus. If she was able to use a sniper rifle, she was definitely part of some sort of special ops – they don’t give that sort of weapon to basic enlisted soldiers. But based on the fact she was on Hyrus using a false name, chances are she was _covert_ ops, not black. She wasn’t there for her own safety.”

            “It was a job,” Keith realized, “Someone sent her undercover to gather intelligence. What could she have been looking into?”

            Shiro shook his head in confusion.

            “What else would there be on Hydrus that the Galra needed other than you?” Shiro asked. “And besides, she was one of the people who accosted you when you were there – it wouldn’t make any sense if she was there looking for you when they hadn’t even found you there yet.”

            “Whatever she was doing there, whoever she was acting for decided to have her follow you,” Pidge filled in. “Either that, or she was acting of her own accord in their best interest.”

            “It wasn’t a coincidence she was your maid, either,” Hunk pointed out. “That’s too convenient.”

            “It was a setup,” Keith surmised.

            “Well,” Hunk clapped his hands, trying to affect his usual sense of cheer but failing miserably. “Thanks for the info, Keith. We’ll look for info on her and try to work on the sensor for the tracker. Come on Pidge, those algorithms aren’t gonna write themselves.”

            “Right,” Pidge agreed, heading off alongside him. She stopped in front of Keith, reaching out to touch his hand lightly.

            “Get some rest, Your Imperial Majesty,” she teased, smiling at him weakly. She poked Shiro in the arm, and then Thace. “You guys, too.”

            “Don’t push yourselves too hard,” Shiro advised the green and yellow paladins gently.

            “We won’t,” Pidge offered him another exhausted grin, looking over her shoulder at the drone, which still was hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Come on Rover II.”

            The drone responded animatedly to her command, bobbing after her as she and Hunk disappeared into the elevator. Shiro felt Keith slump against his shoulder, the monarch absolutely exhausted. He reached up to pet his boyfriend’s ears, Keith leaning into his palm gratefully.

            “We should go wash up—,” Shiro began, only to be interrupted by a bright squeak. Both he and Keith glanced down at their feet, the purple mouse waving his arms frantically in order to get their attention.

            “What is it, Licorice?” Keith inquired, crouching down to offer the mouse the cup of his hand. Licorice shook his little head, pointing towards the stairwell. “You want me to follow you?”  
            The mouse nodded, taking off down the flight of stairs, Keith following after it. He stopped and beckoned Shiro, waving goodbye to Thace, Coran, and Allura.

            “We’re going to follow him,” Keith explained. “My mom was his owner. Maybe he can help us find out something about Lance since he’s the blue paladin, too.”

            Thace and Allura nodded in understanding, the later looking as if she’d been guilty privy to the information from the get go. Coran, however, went into a state of absolute shock, eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets.

            “Serro was your mother!?” he gasped, wheeling on Allura and Thace in disbelief. “Thace, why didn’t you say?”

            “I,” Thace’s ears went down. “I always assumed you knew, since I’m Keith’s father.”

            “As well as the fact that Keith looks _almost exactly like her!_ Coran, can you honestly say you didn’t notice?!” Allura continued, flabbergasted at Coran’s surprise.

            “I always thought it was a co-winky-dink!”

            The normalcy of the discussion was enough to make Shiro laugh and he shared a look with Keith, relieved to find that the red paladin was smiling softly.

            “Come on,” Shiro said, reaching out and squeezing Keith’s hand. “Let’s see where he takes us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the penultimate chapter of Satellite! Next week we'll be posting the final chapter as well as the first chapter of the next installation of Leo Rising, Constellation. 
> 
> But unfortunately we're down a Lance! Where do you think Tora took him? And for what purpose? I think some keen-eyed readers might have some idea, hmm... All I know is that Hunk isn't too happy to be missing his best friend!
> 
> Yet again, I'm deeply sorry that I haven't been answering your comments! Since I started subbing full time I've had a lot less time to respond. Also I'm addicted to Overwatch so there's that. I promise promise promise I'll try my best to get to all of your comments <3 
> 
> And -- as always -- thank you all so much for your love and support! When Ches told me about a oneshot she was writing me as a graduation present, we had no idea it would morph into a four-story space opera saga and having you guys along for the ride has been amazing! I can't wait to share the end of Satellite with all of you!
> 
> ~Moosey


	26. Kin

            Keith and Shiro followed Licorice down the stairs and back into the hangar. The little mouse would stop on every landing it reached before them and glare at them until they caught up, as if they had done him some great offense. Finally, they entered the hangar, Licorice standing on the concourse and waving them over to the Blue Lion’s hangar. Keith and Shiro approached, stopping hesitantly before the craft.

            “Sorry buddy,” Shiro said down at the mouse. “We can’t go any farther.”

            Licorice seemed to dislike this idea, promptly throwing a mouse-sized fit – Shiro sighed at the rodent, crouched down, and poked its cheek softly, “Maybe another day?”

            “Wait,” Keith said, recalling another detail from Serro’s diary. “In my mom’s diary, she said that Zarkon had some level of control over the other lions since he was the Black Paladin. He was able to get the Blue Lion to move just by, like… thinking at her?”

            Shiro furrowed his brow, “Maybe it’s similar to when we form psychic links with each other?”

            “You could try it,” Keith shrugged. Shiro nodded, closing his eyes in concentration. For a few moments nothing happened – and then, the Blue Lion’s eyes slowly glowed to life. The vessel eased her front limbs down, mouth opening in order to emit the pair. Shiro opened his eyes, staring at Keith in amazement.

            “Shiro, that was incredible!” Keith beamed, gripping onto his boyfriend’s hand in excitement.

            “Thank you,” Shiro blushed before turning to the Blue Lion, smiling at her kindly. “Thank you, too.”

            The lion chuffed softly in reply, Licorice climbing up into the mouth before Shiro followed, helping Keith up alongside him. They made their way towards the cockpit, the purple mouse hopping up onto the dashboard and smashing a few of the buttons. Something flickered up onto the dash’s screen, Shiro and Keith standing in front of it to see.

            There, projected on the dash, was Serro. She looked leagues different from the sad, servile woman falsely represented in the portrait. Her eyes were large and bright, hair fluttering wildly around her shoulders as she grinned and giggled. She backed away from the dash camera, revealing an amused if nervous Thace sitting in the captain’s chair. He looked much younger, smiling shyly at the camera and producing a little wave. Serro hopped into his lap, gesturing dramatically at the recording device.

            “Hullo!” Serro beamed, and Keith started. It never occurred to him that she’d had an Altean accent, soft and almost akin to that of an English accent, much like Allura. “My name is Serro, and this handsome man here is Thace, my very own lusvront!”

            “Hello,” Thace laughed softly, waving at the camera again, clearly awkward.

            “Today issss,” Serro tipped back her head in thought. “Yenn three, two-oh-three! And today Thace and I are going to be saying our wedding vows.”

            Keith smiled, brightening immediately.

            “They never got properly married since they had to keep their relationship secret from Zarkon,” he informed Shiro as Thace stood, gently letting Serro off of his lap. The prince knelt before her on both knees, holding both of her hands in his, glancing nervously at the camera.

            “Don’t look at the camera – look at me, sweet love,” the blue paladin said, gently cupping Thace’s cheek and turning him to face her.

            “Okay,” the young Thace responded, before clearing his throat softly. “Serro—.”

            “Hi Thace,” Serro grinned snottily, Thace smirked up at her ruefully.

            “Hello, Serro,” he responded, leaning down to kiss her hands before he began to recite words he knew by heart. “Today, I come together with you before the Mother and the stars to profess to you my love.”

            “As I come together with you before the Mother and the stars to profess my love,” Serro echoed in response.

            “I come together with you to share our friendship, our love, and our years together,” Thace continued. Keith felt his heart began to break and he pressed a loosely-closed fist to his lips.

            “As I come together with you to share our friendship, our love, and our years together,” Serro repeated.

            “Accept me with your heart, and I shall remain forever by your side.”

            “I shall accept you with my heart, and _I_ shall remain forever by _your_ side,” Serro smiled at Thace, rubbing her thumbs over his wrists. “Will you accept me with yours?”

            “I will accept your heart into mine,” Thace replied sweetly and stood, allowing Serro to take a knee beside him.

            “Today we appear before the Gods of Altea,” she began. “To share with them and our friends the good tidings of our binding. Thace. I, Serro, the Blue Paladin of Voltron and the Blue Lion grant to you my heart, my love, and my protection.”

            “As I grant you mine,” Thace replied, and helped her to her feet. They leaned in towards one another to kiss, before Serro groped blindly with her right hand to smack at the controls, the recording breaking off there. Keith laughed, brushing tears out of his eyes. Licorice was still hitting buttons, jabbing his hand towards the screen.

            Another image of Serro appeared, and she looked much older – impossibly closer to the woman in the portrait, but eyes still alight with triumph. Keith started, recognizing the toddler curled up in her arms: himself.

            “Hello my little darling,” Serro said, voice incredibly light as she spoke to the camera. “I… I don’t know if you’ll ever get to see this, but…”

            She trailed off as Keith stirred in her arms, screwing his face into a scowl and shuffling around. Serro smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

            “Guess you’re _always_ hated being woken up,” Shiro joked to Keith gently, reaching out to take his boyfriend’s hand. Keith smiled.

            “But in case you ever did,” Keith’s mother continued, tucking her son close to her chest and rocking him gently side to side. “I wanted to let you know who you were, and where you came from.

            “You were born at a place called City Station – it’s the capital of an Empire: The Galra Empire. Unfortunately, you and I had to leave and come here to this planet to be safe. We’re going to take a long nap while we wait for your papa to pick us up,” she smiled at the camera, eyes gentle. “Your papa is a very good and kind man named Thace. He loves you just as deeply as I do – we both love you with all our hearts. He would be here with us right now, but it was too dangerous for him to come along.”

            She gently launched into an explanation of the situation – how Thace was a Galra, and herself an Altean with transformative abilities. How it was too risky for him to come along because he couldn’t blend in. She gave him the names of Stell and O’shetal, encouraging him to find allies among them – information on how to find them.

            “I know this is a lot, but if…” Serro trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut. She looked incredibly pained. “If you end up waking up, and I don’t… I wanted you to be able to know all this if you ever came across this video. I’m sorry if you’re confused or afraid, especially if I’ve—.”

            She inhaled deeply, eyes glassy and pink with tears, “I never want to leave you alone, Lo. You’re too precious to me, to your father. And if it ever comes to that, I am _so_ sorry. I never meant things to happen this way. Everything we’ve ever done is to keep you safe and happy – and we love you so much. We’re so proud of you, Lo.”

            This message was cut off, quickly replaced by another one before Keith could react. It looked as if it had been taken the same day, but from the pallor of Serro’s skin, he doubted it. Keith could see his child self in the back of the frame, curled up on a space blanket in a manner similar to a kitten. Serro was staring over her shoulder at him before she returned to the camera, drawing a hand through her bangs.

            “It’s been…” Serro whispered, shaking her head with a little laugh. “Ten- _thousand_ years since we’ve gone to sleep. It was the maximum amount of time allowed on these cryo-pods… Thace and I never thought it would take this long for him to come wake us up—.”

            She cut herself off, choking, the corners of her lips quivering. Keith reached out, wishing that he could console her. Serro took a grounding breath and continued: “Thace is… your father has probably passed away by now.”

            ‘ _But he didn’t_ ,’ Keith thought agonizingly. ‘ _He stayed alive all that time for us, Mom. He was still searching until the very end._ ’

            “But that doesn’t mean,” Serro paused, licking her lips. “That I won’t give you the best life I possibly can. We’ll be using a potion to make ourselves look like the natives.”

            She raised a small set of vials up for the camera to see, tapping them with a long fingernail, “I’ll be keeping a little translator on me until I can learn one of the languages of this planet.

            “Lo,” she whispered sweetly, reaching out to caress the camera. “We’ll be happy here, I love you so much—.”

            Static. And then—

            Keith’s heart lurched. He remembered the Serro that was now on the screen – the memories resurfaced, becoming clearer and clearer like a rock being lifted through murky water.

            Her hair was long and straight, spilling neatly over her shoulders – she was dressed in a simple hoodie, the sphere of a pregnant stomach clear beneath the fabric. If Serro had looked exhausted in her last two videos, she looked about ready to pass out in this one, skin sallow and eyes sunken in. Her cheekbones were much more prominent than they had been before.

            Keith’s heart lurched. That was because as she had recorded this video, she was literally dying.

            Serro looked at the camera guiltily, beginning mid-ramble. “…didn’t know what else to do,” she said dizzily. “I’m so selfish for taking you back here. I’m risking everything coming back here again, but I had to see my lion one last time, have to tell you so much but I—.”

            She faced the camera, eyes dark and serious with acceptance, “I’m going to die. I know that I can’t survive bringing your sibling into this world. When I got into the cryo-pod, I didn’t know that it couldn’t support both of us.”

            Serro took a deep breath once more, closing her eyes before they opened, already full of tears, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to meet your sibling either. I’m… I’m so, so sorry it turned out this way. I thought this would be better – I never, _ever_ intended to leave you alone.”

            The blue paladin propped her forehead up in her hand and slumped over onto the dash, sobbing silently for several moments before glancing up, blinking hard to squeeze tears out of her eyes before facing the camera again. “I know I’ve let you down, but whatever happens here –even if you’re without me— just know that you’ll be infinitely happier and safer for it. Even if I’m not here, a part of me will live on in Misty – in the Blue Lion – and I’ll bring you to her side, and I’ll watch over you from here.”

            Serro lowered her head and reached out to the controls, gesturing to stop the recording before she hesitated, thinking better of it.

            “Keith…” Serro said softly, and her son in the present day perked up at the sound of his name. “In this culture, it means ‘from the battlefield’. I want you to know how hard your father and I have fought for you, I want you to—.”

            “Mama?”

            Serro turned, a sleepy little head of mussed black hair bobbing just at the edge of the lower frame. The blue paladin’s eyes grew kind and she reached forward, hefting into her lap a young Keith, who couldn’t have been more than two or three years old.

            “What’re you doin’?” baby Keith asked, squinting at the camera in exhausted confusion.

            Serro kissed his cheek, gesturing forward, “I’m saying hi to you, baby. I’m making a video for you when you’re older.”

            “When ‘m older?” Keith frowned.

            “Yes, I’m talking to you when you’re older.”

            The toddler screwed up his face in confusion, “That’s _silly_.”

            Serro beamed, and with nothing else better to say, leaned forward and blew a big raspberry into Keith’s cheek, the toddler wailing with joy. Her fingers splayed over his ribs, ticking him until Serro convulsed, leaning forward sharply with a hand pressed to her stomach.

            “Mommy?” baby Keith asked, his voice laced with worry as Serro struggled to breathe through the pain. “Mommy are you okay?”

            “Mommy’s okay, sweetie,” Serro pulled away from him, forcing herself to smile through the pain. She brought their noses together, rubbing them against one another lovingly. Baby Keith smiled, patting her cheek happily. “I love you, Keith.”

            “I love you too, Mommy.”

            The recording stopped there and no more came after that. Keith stood perfectly still in front of the dash, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Shiro turned to his boyfriend, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him close to his chest. Keith tucked himself beneath Shiro’s chin, ears pinned back with grief.

            He was thankful – beyond thankful – to have been given the gift of seeing and hearing his mother for one last time. To have something tangible that he could cherish, something left of her to his name. He released a shuddering breath, dotting Shiro’s dirtied uniform with his tears. His boyfriend’s fingers found their way through his hair, tangling with the thick strands and releasing them gently, the petting motion soothing him quickly.

            “Are you alright?” Shiro asked softly, and Keith nodded, pulling away.

            “It… it hurts like hell,” Keith admitted with a sad smile, “I wish I could just reach through time and comfort her. Let her know that I love her and that I miss her. That she did everything she could. That she didn’t fail me. That dad’s still alive…” he paused, biting his lip with growing resolve. “Dad,” he murmured, stepping free from Shiro’s embrace and cuffing the remainder of his tears away. “He needs to see this; he deserves this sort of closure, too.”

            “Want me to bring him here?” the black paladin offered, but Keith was already shaking his head, pawing around the storage areas of the Blue Lion. After their crash landing on Hydrus, Allura had been even more insistent that the gear they carried would help them in all regards. Their packs had been upgraded, their medical kits buffed out, and – thanks to Pidge and Hunk’s input – both a technical and mechanical toolbox had been supplied.

            “Here,” Keith muttered, popping open the little blue box and finding what he was searching for. Stowing the rest, Keith returned to the cockpit, fitting the thumb drive into the front of the dash. The display pulled up a new window and Keith touched the player where the recordings had been, dragging the box into the file folder to deposit the contents. There was a flash as a little progress bar zipped across the screen and then the videos were transferred.

            “Come on,” Keith murmured, extracting the flash and holding it aloft. “I think it’ll mean the most coming from the both of us.” Interlacing their hands, the couple disembarked the Blue Lion, Licorice trailing forlornly at their feet.

            “I know,” Keith told him consolingly, “I miss her, too.”

            Not knowing where else to start, they made for the control room, unsurprised to find Thace and Coran already deep in a conversation that was highly animated on the part of the latter. Thace caught sight of his son and coughed, gently excusing himself from his friend’s company and approaching the pair, looking unusually tentative.

            “Hey, Dad,” Keith greeted softly, picking up on Thace’s mood. “Everything alright?”

            “Ultimately,” the lieutenant commander nodded, peering over his shoulder. “I have something I need to tell you; would you mind finding somewhere private?”

            “Sure,” Keith frowned, looking to his boyfriend for explanation, who had none. “We actually have something to tell you, too. You sure everything’s alright?”

            Thace offered them a wan smile, leading them to the back of the control room and up a flight of stairs towards the peak of the Castle. Contained above was a conference room seldom used by any of Team Voltron, a sitting space arranged at the front before a beautiful glass window that emptied out into the starscape beyond. Keith gazed around in awe, wondering why he’d never bothered to find the space before.

            He entered the sitting space, intending to take a seat when Thace stopped him with a gentle hand, drawing his attentions. He paused, frowning, and took Thace’s hand in his. “Dad,” he began, determined to erase the pain he could see creeping forward in the other’s expression. “Shiro and I found something,” he explained, palming the flash drive into Thace’s own and closing his fingers around it. “Licorice showed us how.”

            “Licorice?” Thace repeated curiously. “Where did he take you?”

            “The Blue Lion,” Shiro intoned softly.

            “I had a feeling,” Thace laughed, the sound hollow. “What… what did he show you?”

            “Videos,” Keith returned simply, feeling the tears surge forward once more. “They’re of mom. And you,” he added, “At least in the first one. You were getting married and…” he went on, detailing in brief the things they had seen. “I know they’re not all happy and I know that it will hurt, but you deserve to be able to see them. To see her again, to…” Keith sighed, wiping at his face, “To be able to hear her. We had to share this with you.”

            Thace looked to the flash drive curled in his hand, clasping it close to his breast a moment before pulling Keith close towards him, holding him tight. “Thank you, kit,” he murmured, voice strained. “Both of you,” he added, throwing out an arm and dragging Shiro in towards them, the startled paladin gently holding onto both father and son.

            They parted a moment later, all a bit misty eyed. Keith cleared his throat, still perturbed by the expression his father was wearing. “Hey,” he ushered, and when Thace looked at him he seemed much older than before, worn down from the events that had unfolded around them.

            “Keith,” Thace began with a wavering breath. “While we avoided docking at Gal today, we were still able to find something out: the entire reason for the City Station’s return to the home planet.”

            Keith straightened, having long since been informed about the days of his fugue and what had transpired. “The DNA results?” he prodded, and Thace nodded in confirmation.

            “When Pidge and Hunk were looking for data they undid the holds she had put on the technology there. She thought it would be the least she could do for the City Station, especially since they will need a means of rebuilding. As such all of the machines that were decommissioned came back online – the DNA analyzer included. The results came back surprisingly swift – we were lucky she was able to shut it down so promptly, although I suppose…” he trailed off.

            Keith bit his lip, the answer already abundantly clear to him. “Go on,” he encouraged, and Thace proceeded.

            “Normally, I would ask if you wish to know what the results were,” he sighed. “But given your coronation today you can’t afford to be ignorant: your legitimacy as emperor is at stake. I think it comes as no surprise when I tell you that I am not your biological father,” he admitted in a whisper.

            “I thought as much,” Keith answered solemnly, releasing a breath.

            _‘I’d be lying if I said I thought otherwise,’_ he considered, _‘But it still must hurt him like hell to know that he never got to have a kid of his own with mom. I wonder…’_ He thought back to the swell of Serro’s tummy, the sallow appearance of her skin. _‘No,’_ he reconsidered, _‘It doesn’t matter, either: we were both their children, no matter what.’_

“But you know how I feel about that,” Keith continued aloud. “All of Gal – the entire Empire – knows how I feel about that. About Zarkon? And you? And mom?”

            Thace looked up, expression soft, revived from the memory alone.

            “If I have to make it clearer then I will,” Keith pressed, “ _You_ are my father: you and you alone. No one can replace you in my eyes, or in my heart. You helped to teach me what a family is – Zarkon only ever taught me what it _wasn’t_. And a family isn’t something defined by blood, it isn’t about duties or obligations,” he insisted, bracing a hand to Thace’s shoulder.

            “It’s about who loves you and who cares for you, who treats you right and is there for you when you need them. And you’ve been there for me – for all of us. You’ve done nothing but risk yourself for our sake. You’re a part of Team Voltron now, a part of this family. You’re _my_ family. And I would never, ever want that to change.”

            “If…” Shiro spoke up, voice unusually nervous. He exchanged a brief look with Thace, who nodded gently. Keith looked between the two of them, confused.

            “If it’s alright with you,” Shiro continued, pulling Keith aside and clasping their hands together. “I want to be a part of that family.”

            Keith laughed softly, ears cocked in confused. “Of course you’re part of Team Voltron, what –?”

            “Not Team Voltron,” Shiro corrected, lowering himself shakily to the ground, one knee pressed into the carpet, “I want to be a part of _your_ family.”

            Keith gasped, wide eyed as he completely lost the capability to think.

            _‘Is he…?’_ was all he had time to wonder before Shiro continued.

            “Keith,” he began, voice growing stronger, “You have been by my side longer than anyone. You were there for me after I lost my moms, were there for me when I was accepted on the Kerberos Mission, where there even when I was proclaimed dead. You waited for me, you had faith in me, believed in me. And when I came back to you I was a wreck, a shell of the person you knew. And you stayed by me. You never once gave up on me, Keith. For all of my faults and all of my traumas and shortcomings you’ve been there, to love me and protect me.

            “And you’ve been so strong through it all. You’ve been faithful and selfless, communicative and loving: you’re everything I’ve ever needed, Keith. You’ve made me think on what it means to be a person, to be a partner, a friend. On what it means to have a family. And your love has helped me come to terms with all of it, to better love _myself_. You make me better, stronger. And you accept the things that are ugly, too.

            “I know this is sudden and that I’m probably not doing it right – I don’t even have a ring – but I know how I feel about you and I will never apologize for that. I know what I want out of my life with certainty. And it’s you, Keith. I know I have little else to offer you but my endless love and support and friendship, but if you’ll have me, I want to be your _ilbe_ , to be the one that takes you as you are – all of you – and still love you for it. I want to always remain at your side, no matter what, to be everything you need and deserve: to be your friend, your companion, for the rest of our years; to be your home – as you are mine. I want to be your family, Keith – to be the one that you choose.

            “So if you would have me,” he finished with a wavering breath, “Will you marry me?”

            Keith sunk to the floor beaming as he brought Shiro to his chest, pressing their foreheads together, his words flowing out in a chorus. “Yes,” he whispered, “Yes, yes, yes, Takashi, of course,” he laughed tearfully, “Of course I will have you, of course I will marry you. I love you so much, I love you.”

            Shiro kissed him elatedly, embracing him close as he eased them off the floor, carrying the brunt of Keith’s weight and spinning him lightly. They parted, breathless, standing before the wide swathe of stars, the galaxy at their feet but eyes only made for each other.

            “De luste da, Keith,” Shiro whispered, cradled in his fiancé’s arms.

            “De luste da, Takashi,” came the promised reply, “No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part II
> 
> Oh my goodness, I can't believe we're already here at the end of Satellite <3 The majority of this was written over the course of two weeks in January, but its just so weird to know that we've finished posting it in its entirety! 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for your love and support over these past several months. You have no idea how much it means to us to be able to wake up Saturday morning to an inbox full of love and reviews! This installment really holds a special piece of my heart because it was my first involvement in the Leo Rising series after CheshireCity wrote me all of Pressure Suit as a graduation gift. Every character and all of their trials and developments have become even more dear to me in the process of writing Satellite and receiving all of your love and reactions <3
> 
> But! As you all know, Leo Rising is far from over. As you can see below, we've already posted the first chapter of the next installment of the series, Constellation! Both Ches and I hope you enjoy it as much as Pressure Suit and Satellite -- we're certainly excited to share every twist and turn with you! 
> 
> ALSO! fr0stmask has drawn us some GORGEOUS fanart! Thank you so much, fr0st -- Ches and I are absolutely delighted <3
> 
> Prince Keith: http://fr0stmask.tumblr.com/post/160860010947/a-doodle-for-an-amazing-fic-the-leo-rising
> 
> The Coronation: http://fr0stmask.tumblr.com/post/160930131782/vol-sa-more-art-for-the-astounding-fic-series
> 
> Much Love,  
> Moosey


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